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LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH 

AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY   THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


TITTLE    LORD 

FAUNTLEROY. 

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' '  Everybody  was  in 
love  with  '  Little  Lord 
Fautitleroy ,'  and  I 
think  all  the  world 
and  the  rest  of  man- 
kind will  be  in  love 
•with  '  Sara  Crewe.' 
The  tale  is  so  tender, 
so  ■wise,  so  human, 
that  I  wish  every  girl 
in  America  could  read  it,  for  I  thi?ik  every  one 
would  be  made  better  by  it." 

— Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 


Illustrated  by  REGINALD    CB.   "BIRCH. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/littlesaintelizaburnett 


IT   WAS   AUNT   CLOTILDE,  WHO    HAD    SUNK    FORWARD    WHILE   KNEELING   AT    PRAYER.       (Page  23.) 


LITTLE    SAINT    ELIZABETH 


OTHER    STORIES 


FRANCES   HODGSON   BURNETT 


ILLUSTRATED     BY     REGINALD     B.    BIRCH 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1890 


Copyright,  1890,  by 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS. 

[All  rights  reserved.'] 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co., 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


to 

* 


CONTENTS. 

LITTLE   SAINT   ELIZABETH. Page    15 

THE   STORY   OF   PRINCE   FAIRY  FOOT— 

Part    I.     ........  "-       59 

Part   II. "79 

Part  III. "91 

THE   PROUD    LITTLE    GRAIN    OF    WHEAT.            .        .  "     103 

"BEHIND    THE    WHITE   BRICK.       .        .         .        .        .  "     125 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FROM  DRA  WINGS  B  Y  REGINALD  B.  BIRCH. 

It  was  Aunt  Clotilde,  who  had  sunk  forward  while  kneeling 

at  prayer, Frontispiece 

" There  she  is,"  they  would  cry, 

The  villagers  did  not  stand  in  awe  of  her,     .... 

"  Uncle  Bertrand,"  said  the  child,  clasping  her  hands,    . 

"  Why  is  it  that  you  cry  ?  "  she  asked  gently , 

Her  strength  deserted  her — she  fell  upon  her  knees  in  the  snow,  . 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Fairy  foot,  "  I'm  surprised," 

"  What' s  the  matter  with  the  swine  ?"  he  asked,     . 

Almost  immediately  they  found  themselves  in  a  beautiful  little 
dell,  .  

Fairyfoot  loved  her  in  a  moment,  and  he  knelt  on  one  knee, 

"  There' s  the  cake,"  he  said, 

"Eh  I  Eh!"  he  said.     "What!    What  I    Who' s  this,  Toot- 

sicums?" .        "     /_?5 


Page 

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119 

LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 


THERE    SHE   IS,''    THEY    WOULD    CRY. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 


SHE  had  not  been  brought  up  in  America  at  all.  She  had 
been  born  in  France,  in  a  beautiful  ch&teau,  and  she 
had  been  born  heiress  to  a  great  fortune,  but,  neverthe- 
less, just  now  she  felt  as  if  she  was  very  poor,  indeed.  And 
yet  her  home  was  in  one  of  the  most  splendid  houses  in  New 
York.  She  had  a  lovely  suite  of  apartments  of  her  own, 
though  she  was  only  eleven  years  old.  She  had  had  her  own 
carriage  and  a  saddle  horse,  a  train  of  masters,  and  govern- 
esses, and  servants,  and  was  regarded  by  all  the  children  of 
the  neighborhood  as  a  sort  of  grand  and  mysterious  little 
princess,  whose  incomings  and  outgoings  were  to  be  watched 
with  the  greatest  interest. 

"There  she  is,"  they  would  cry,  flying  to  their  windows  to 
look  at  her.  "  She  is  going  out  in  her  carriage."  "  She  is 
dressed  all  in  black  velvet  and  splendid  fur."  "  That  is  her 
own,  own,  carriage."  "  She  has  millions  of  money  ;  and  she 
can  have  anything  she  wants- — Jane  says  so  !  "  "  She  is  very 
pretty,  too  ;  but  she  is  so  pale  and  has  such  big,  sorrowful, 
black  eyes.      I  should  not  be  sorrowful  if  I  were  in  her  place ; 


1 6  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

but  Jane  says  the  servants  say  she  is  always  quiet  and  looks 
sad."  "  Her  maid  says  she  lived  with  her  aunt,  and  her  aunt 
made  her  too  religious." 

She  rarely  lifted  her  large  dark  eyes  to  look  at  them  with 
any  curiosity.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  the  society  of 
children.  She  had  never  had  a  child  companion  in  her  life, 
and  these  little  Americans,  who  were  so  very  rosy  and  gay,  and 
who  went  out  to  walk  or  drive  with  groups  of  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  even  ran  in  the  street,  laughing  and  playing  and 
squabbling  healthily — these  children  amazed  her. 

Poor  little  Saint  Elizabeth  !  She  had  not  lived  a  very 
natural  or  healthy  life  herself,  and  she  knew  absolutely 
nothing  of  real  childish  pleasures.  You  see,  it  had  occurred 
in  this  way  :  When  she  was  a  baby  of  two  years  her  young 
father  and  mother  died,  within  a  week  of  each  other,  of  a 
terrible  fever,  and  the  only  near  relatives  the  little  one  had 
were  her  Aunt  Clotilde  and  Uncle  Bertrand.  Her  Aunt 
Clotilde  lived  in  Normandy — her  Uncle  Bertrand  in  New 
York.  As  these  two  were  her  only  guardians,  and  as  Ber- 
trand de  Rochemont  was  a  gay  bachelor,  fond  of  pleasure 
and  knowing  nothing  of  babies,  it  was  natural  that  he  should 
be  very  willing  that  his  elder  sister  should  undertake  the 
rearing  and  education  of  the  child. 

"  Only,"  he  wrote  to  Mademoiselle  de  Rochemont,  "  don't 
end  by  training  her  for  an  abbess,  my  dear  Clotilde." 

There  was  a  very  great  difference  between  these  two  peo* 
pie — the  distance  between  the  gray  stone  chateau  in  Normandy 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  17 

and  the  brown  stone  mansion  in  New  York  was  not  nearly  so 
great  as  the  distance  and  difference  between  the  two  lives. 
And  yet  it  was  said  that  in  her  first  youth  Mademoiselle  de 
Rochemont  had  been  as  gay  and  fond  of  pleasure  as  either  of 
her  brothers.  And  then,  when  her  life  was  at  its  brightest 
and  gayest — when  she  was  a  beautiful  and  brilliant  young 
woman — she  had  had  a  great  and  bitter  sorrow,  which  had 
changed  her  for  ever.  From  that  time  she  had  never  left  the 
house  in  which  she  had  been  born,  and  had  lived  the  life  of  a 
nun  in  everything  but  being  enclosed  in  convent  walls.  At 
first  she  had  had  her  parents  to  take  care  of,  but  when  they 
died  she  had  been  left  entirely  alone  in  the  great  chateau, 
and  devoted  herself  to  prayer  and  works  of  charity  among 
the  villagers  and  country  people. 

"Ah  !  she  is  good — she  is  a  saint  Mademoiselle,"  the  poor 
people  always  said  when  speaking  of  her ;  but  they  also 
always  looked  a  little  awe-stricken  when  she  appeared,  and 
never  were  sorry  when  she  left  them. 

She  was  a  tall  woman,  with  a  pale,  rigid,  handsome  face, 
which  never  smiled.  She  did  nothing  but  good  deeds,  but 
however  grateful  her  pensioners  might  be,  nobody  would  ever 
have  dared  to  dream  of  loving  her.  She  was  just  and  cold 
and  severe.  She  wore  always  a  straight  black  serge  gown, 
broad  bands  of  white  linen,  and  a  rosary  and  crucifix  at  her 
waist.  She  read  nothing  but  religious  works  and  legends  of 
the  saints  and  martyrs,  and  adjoining  her  private  apartments 
was  a  little  stone  chapel,  where  the  servants  said  she  used  to 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 


kneel  on  the  cold  floor  before  the  altar  and  pray  for  hours  in 
the  middle  of  the  night. 

The  little  cure  of  the  village,  who  was  plump  and  comfort- 
able, and  who  had  the  kindest  heart  and  the  most  cheerful 
soul  in  the  world,  used  to  remonstrate  with  her,  always  in  a 
roundabout  way,  however,  never  quite  as  if  he  were  referring 
directly  to  herself. 

"One  must  not  let  one's  self  become  the  stone  image  of 
goodness,"  he  said  once.  "  Since  one  is  really  of  flesh  and 
blood,  and  lives  among  flesh  and  blood,  that  is  not  best. 
No,  no  ;  it  is  not  best." 

But  Mademoiselle  de  Rochemont  never  seemed  exactly  of 
flesh  and  blood — she  was  more  like  a  marble  female  saint 
who  had  descended  from  her  pedestal  to  walk  upon  the  earth. 

And  she  did  not  change,  even  when  the  baby  Elizabeth 
was  brought  to  her.  She  attended  strictly  to  the  child's 
comfort  and  prayed  many  prayers  for  her  innocent  soul,  but 
it  can  be  scarcely  said  that  her  manner  was  any  softer  or 
that  she  smiled  more.  At  first  Elizabeth  used  to  scream  at 
the  sight  of  the  black,  nun-like  dress  and  the  rigid,  hand- 
some face,  but  in  course  of  time  she  became  accustomed  to 
them,  and,  through  living  in  an  atmosphere  so  silent  and 
without  brightness,  a  few  months  changed  her  from  a  laugh- 
ing, romping  baby  into  a  pale,  quiet  child,  who  rarely  made 
any  childish  noise  at  all. 

In  this  quiet  way  she  became  fond  of  her  aunt.  She  saw 
little  of  anyone  but  the  servants,  who  were  all  trained  to  quiet- 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  19 

ness  also.  As  soon  as  she  was  old  enough  her  aunt  began  her 
religious  training.  Before  she  could  speak  plainly  she  heard 
legends  of  saints  and  stories  of  martyrs.  She  was  taken  into 
the  little  chapel  and  taught  to  pray  there.  She  believed  in 
miracles,  and  would  not  have  been  surprised  at  any  moment 
if  she  had  met  the  Child  Jesus  or  the  Virgin  in  the  beautiful 
rambling  gardens  which  surrounded  the  chateau.  She  was  a 
sensitive,  imaginative  child,  and  the  sacred  romances  she 
heard  filled  all  her  mind  and  made  up  her  little  life.  She 
wished  to  be  a  saint  herself,  and  spent  hours  in  wandering  in 
the  terraced  rose  gardens  wondering  if  such  a  thing  was  pos- 
sible in  modern  days,  and  what  she  must  do  to  obtain  such 
holy  victory.  Her  chief  sorrow  was  that  she  knew  herself  to 
be  delicate  and  very  timid — so  timid  that  she  often  suffered 
when  people  did  not  suspect  it — and  she  was  afraid  that  she 
was  not  brave  enough  to  be  a  martyr.  Once,  poor  little  one ! 
when  she  was  alone  in  her  room,  she  held  her  hand  over  a 
burning  wax  candle,  but  the  pain  was  so  terrible  that  she 
could  not  keep  it  there.  Indeed,  she  fell  back  white  and  faint, 
and  sank  upon  her  chair,  breathless  and  in  tears,  because  she 
felt  sure  that  she  could  not  chant  holy  songs  if  she  were  being 
burned  at  the  stake.  She  had  been  vowed  to  the  Virgin  in 
her  babyhood,  and  was  always  dressed  in  white  and  blue,  but 
her  little  dress  was  a  small  conventual  robe,  straight  and  nar- 
row cut,  of  white  woollen  stuff,  and  banded  plainly  with  blue 
at  the  waist.  She  did  not  look  like  other  children,  but  she 
was  very  sweet  and  gentle,  and  her  pure  little  pale  face  and 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 


large,  dark  eyes  had  a  lovely  dreamy  look.  When  she  was 
old  enough  to  visit  the  poor  with  her  Aunt  Clotilde — and  she 
was  hardly  seven  years  old  when  it  was  considered  proper 
that  she  should  begin — the  villagers  did  not  stand  in  awe 
of  her.  They  began  to  adore  her,  almost  to  worship  her, 
as  if  she  had,  indeed,  been  a  sacred  child.  The  little  ones 
delighted  to  look  at  her,  to  draw  near  her  sometimes  and 
touch  her  soft  white  and  blue  robe.  And,  when  they  did  so, 
she  always  returned  their  looks  with  such  a  tender,  sympa- 
thetic smile,  and  spoke  to  them  in  so  gentle  a  voice,  that 
they  were  in  ecstasies.  They  used  to  talk  her  over,  tell  sto- 
ries about  her  when  they  were  playing  together  afterwards. 

"The  little  Mademoiselle,"  they  said,  "she  is  a  child  saint. 
I  have  heard  them  say  so.  Sometimes  there  is  a  little  light 
round  her  head.  One  day  her  little  white  robe  will  begin  to 
shine  too,  and  her  long  sleeves  will  be  wings,  and  she  will 
spread  them  and  ascend  through  the  blue  sky  to  Paradise. 
You  will  see  if  it  is  not  so." 

So,  in  this  secluded  world  in  the  gray  old  chateau,  with  no 
companion  but  her  aunt,  with  no  occupation  but  her  studies 
and  her  charities,  with  no  thoughts  but  those  of  saints  and 
religious  exercises,  Elizabeth  lived  until  she  was  eleven  years 
old.  Then  a  great  grief  befell  her.  One  morning,  Made- 
moiselle de  Rochemont  did  not  leave  her  room  at  the  regular 
hour.  As  she  never  broke  a  rule  she  had  made  for  herself 
and  her  household,  this  occasioned  great  wonder.  Her  old 
maid   servant   waited  half   an  hour — went  to  her  door,  and 


THE  VILLAGERS  DID   NOT   STAND   IN   AWE  OF    HER. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  23 

took  the  liberty  of  listening  to  hear  if  she  was  up  and  moving 
about  her  room.  There  was  no  sound.  Old  Alice  returned, 
looking  quite  agitated.  "  Would  Mademoiselle  Elizabeth 
mind  entering  to  see  if  all  was  well  ?  Mademoiselle  her  aunt 
might  be  in  the  chapel." 

Elizabeth  went.  Her  aunt  was  not  in  her  room.  Then 
she  must  be  in  the  chapel.  The  child  entered  the  sacred  little 
place.  The  morning  sun  was  streaming  in  through  the  stained- 
glass  windows  above  the  altar — a  broad  ray  of  mingled  brilliant 
colors  slanted  to  the  stone  floor  and  warmly  touched  a  dark 
figure  lying  there.  It  was  Aunt  Clotilde,  who  had  sunk  for- 
ward while  kneeling  at  prayer  and  had  died  in  the  night. 

That  was  what  the  doctors  said  when  they  were  sent  for. 
She  had  been  dead  some  hours — she  had  died  of  disease  of 
the  heart,  and  apparently  without  any  pain  or  knowledge  of 
the  change  coming  to  her.  Her  face  was  serene  and  beauti- 
ful, and  the  rigid  look  had  melted  awav.  Someone  said  she 
looked  like  little  Mademoiselle  Elizabeth ;  and  her  old  ser- 
vant Alice  wept  very  much,  and  said,  "Yes — yes — it  was  so 
when  she  was  young,  before  her  unhappiness  came.  She  had 
the  same  beautiful  little  face,  but  she  was  more  gay,  more  of 
the  world.     Yes,  they  were  much  alike  then." 

Less  than  two  months  from  that  time  Elizabeth  was  living 
in  the  home  of  her  Uncle  Bertrand,  in  New  York.  He  had 
come  to  Normandy  for  her  himself,  and  taken  her  back  with 
him  across  the  Atlantic.  She  was  richer  than  ever  now,  as  a 
great  deal  of  her  Aunt  Clotilde's  money  had  been  left  to  her, 


24  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

and  Uncle  Bertrand  was  her  guardian.  He  was  a  handsome, 
elegant,  clever  man,  who,  having  lived  long  in  America  and 
being  fond  of  American  life,  did  not  appear  very  much  like  a 
Frenchman — at  least  he  did  not  appear  so  to  Elizabeth,  who 
had  only  seen  the  cure  and  the  doctor  of  the  village.  Secretly 
he  was  very  much  embarrassed  at  the  prospect  of  taking  care 
of  a  little  girl,  but  family  pride,  and  the  fact  that  such  a  very 
little  girl,  who  was  also  such  a  very  great  heiress,  must  be 
taken  care  of  sustained  him.  But  when  he  first  saw  Eliza- 
beth he  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  consternation. 

She  entered  the  room,  when  she  was  sent  for,  clad  in  a 
strange  little  nun-like  robe  of  black  serge,  made  as  like  her 
dead  aunt's  as  possible.  At  her  small  waist  were  the  rosary 
and  crucifix,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  missal  she  had  for- 
gotten in  her  agitation  to  lay  down 

"  But,  my  dear  child,"  exclaimed  Uncle  Bertrand,  staring 
at  her  aghast. 

He  managed  to  recover  himself  very  quickly,  and  was,  in 
his  way,  very  kind  to  her ;  but  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
send  to  Paris  for  a  fashionable  maid  and  fashionable  mourn- 
ing. 

"  Because,  as  you  will  see,"  he  remarked  to  Alice,  "  we 
cannot  travel  as  we  are.  It  is  a  costume  for  a  convent  or  the 
stage." 

Before  she  took  off  her  little  conventual  robe,  Elizabeth 
went  to  the  village  to  visit  all  her  poor.  The  cure  went  with 
her  and  shed  tears  himself  when  the  people  wept  and  kissed 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 


her  little  hand.  When  the  child  returned,  she  went  into  the 
chapel  and  remained  there  for  a  long  time. 

She  felt  as  if  she  was  living  in  a  dream  when  all  the  old 
life  was  left  behind  and  she  found  herself  in  the  big  luxurious 
house  in  the  gay  New  York  street.  Nothing  that  could  be 
done  for  her  comfort  had  been  left  undone.  She  had  sev- 
eral beautiful  rooms,  a  wonderful  governess,  different  masters 
to  teach  her,  her  own  retinue  of  servants  as,  indeed,  has  been 
already  said. 

But,  secretly,  she  felt  bewildered  and  almost  terrified, 
everything  was  so  new,  so  strange,  so  noisy,  and  so  brilliant. 
The  dress  she  wore  made  her  feel  unlike  herself  ;  the  books 
they  gave  her  were  full  of  pictures  and  stories  of  worldly 
things  of  which  she  knew  nothing.  Her  carriage  was  brought 
to  the  door  and  she  went  out  with  her  governess,  driving 
round  and  round  the  park  with  scores  of  other  people  who 
looked  at  her  curiously,  she  did  not  know  why.  The  truth 
was  that  her  refined  little  face  was  very  beautiful  indeed,  and 
her  soft  dark  eyes  still  wore  the  dreamy  spiritual  look  which 
made  her  unlike  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"  She  looks  like  a  little  princess,"  she  heard  her  uncle  say 
one  day.  "  She  will  be  some  day  a  beautiful,  an  enchanting 
woman — her  mother  was  so  when  she  died  at  twenty,  but  she 
had  been  brought  up  differently.  This  one  is  a  little  devotee. 
I  am  afraid  of  her.  Her  governess  tells  me  she  rises  in  the 
night  to  pray."  He  said  it  with  light  laughter  to  some  of  his 
gay  friends  by  whom  he  had  wished  the  child  to  be  seen.     He 


26  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

did  not  know  that  his  gayety  filled  her  with  fear  and  pain. 
She  had  been  taught  to  believe  gayety  worldly  and  sinful,  and 
his  whole  life  was  filled  with  it.  He  had  brilliant  parties — 
he  did  not  go  to  church — he  had  no  pensioners — he  seemed 
to  think  of  nothing  but  pleasure.  Poor  little  Saint  Elizabeth 
prayed  for  his  soul  many  an  hour  when  he  was  asleep  after  a 
grand  dinner  or  supper  party. 

He  could  not  possibly  have  dreamed  that  there  was  no 
one  of  whom  she  stood  in  such  dread  ;  her  timidity  increased 
ten  fold  in  his  presence.  When  he  sent  for  her  and  she  went 
into  the  library  to  find  him  luxurious  in  his  arm  chair,  a  novel 
on  his  knee,  a  cigar  in  his  white  hand,  a  tolerant,  half  cynical 
smile  on  his  handsome  mouth,  she  could  scarcely  answer  his 
questions,  and  could  never  find  courage  to  tell  what  she 
so  earnestly  desired.  She  had  found  out  early  that  Aunt 
Clotilde  and  the  cure,  and  the  life  they  had  led,  had  only 
aroused  in  his  mind  a  half-pitying  amusement.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  he  did  not  understand  and  had  strange  sacrilegious 
thoughts  about  them — he  did  not  believe  in  miracles — he 
smiled  when  she  spoke  of  saints.  How  could  she  tell  him 
that  she  wished  to  spend  all  her  money  in  building  churches 
and  giving  alms  to  the  poor  ?  That  was  what  she  wished  to 
tell  him — that  she  wanted  money  to  send  back  to  the  village, 
that  she  wanted  to  give  it  to  the  poor  people  she  saw  in  the 
streets,  to  those  who  lived  in  the  miserable  places. 

But  when  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  him  and  he 
said  some  witty  thing  to  her  and  seemed  to  find  her  only  amus- 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  27 

ing,  all  her  courage  failed  her.  Sometimes  she  thought  she 
would  throw  herself  upon  her  knees  before  him  and  beg  him 
to  send  her  back  to  Normandy — to  let  her  live  alone  in  the 
chateatt,  as  her  Aunt  Clotilde  had  done. 

One  morning  she  arose  very  early,  and  knelt  a  long  time 
before  the  little  altar  she  had  made  for  herself  in  her  dressing 
room.  It  was  only  a  table  with  some  black  velvet  thrown  over 
it,  a  crucifix,  a  saintly  image,  and  some  flowers  standing  upon 
it.  She  had  put  on,  when  she  got  up,  the  quaint  black  serge 
robe,  because  she  felt  more  at  home  in  it,  and  her  heart  was 
full  of  determination.  The  nigrht  before  she  had  received  a 
letter  from  the  cure  and  it  had  contained  sad  news.  A  fever 
had  broken  out  in  her  beloved  village,  the  vines  had  done 
badly,  there  was  sickness  among  the  cattle,  there  was  already 
beginning  to  be  suffering,  and  if  something  were  not  done  for 
the  people  they  would  not  know  how  to  face  the  winter.  In 
the  time  of  Mademoiselle  de  Rochemont  they  had  always 
been  made  comfortable  and  happy  at  Christmas.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  The  cure  ventured  to  write  to  Mademoiselle 
Elizabeth. 

The  poor  child  had  scarcely  slept  at  all.  Her  dear  vil- 
lage !  Her  dear  people  !  The  children  would  be  hungry  ;  the 
cows  would  die  ;  there  would  be  no  fires  to  warm  those  who 
were  old. 

"  I  must  go  to  uncle,"  she  said,  pale  and  trembling.  "  I 
must  ask  him  to  give  me  money.  I  am  afraid,  but  it  is  right 
to  mortify  the  spirit.     The  martyrs  went  to  the  stake.     The 


28  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

holy  Saint  Elizabeth  was  ready  to  endure  anything  that  she 
might  do  her  duty  and  help  the  poor." 

Because  she  had  been  called  Elizabeth  she  had  thought  and 
read  a  great  deal  of  the  saint  whose  namesake  she  was — the 
saintly  Elizabeth  whose  husband  was  so  wicked  and  cruel, 
and  who  wished  to  prevent  her  from  doing  good  deeds.  And 
oftenest  of  all  she  had  read  the  legend  which  told  that  one 
day  as  Elizabeth  went  out  with  a  basket  of  food  to  give  to  the 
poor  and  hungry,  she  had  met  her  savage  husband,  who  had 
demanded  that  she  should  tell  him  what  she  was  carrying,  and 
when  she  replied  "  Roses,"  and  he  tore  the  cover  from  the 
basket  to  see  if  she  spoke  the  truth,  a  miracle  had  been  per- 
formed, and  the  basket  was  filled  with  roses,  so  that  she  had 
been  saved  from  her  husband's  cruelty,  and  also  from  telling 
an  untruth.  To  little  Elizabeth  this  legend  had  been  beauti- 
ful and  quite  real — -it  proved  that  if  one  were  doing  good, 
the  saints  would  take  care  of  one.  Since  she  had  been  in 
her  new  home,  she  had,  half  consciously,  compared  her  Uncle 
Bertrand  with  the  wicked  Landgrave,  though  she  was  too 
gentle  and  just  to  think  he  was  really  cruel,  as  Saint  Eliza- 
beth's husband  had  been,  only  he  did  not  care  for  the  poor, 
and  loved  only  the  world — and  surely  that  was  wicked.  She 
had  been  taught  that  to  care  for  the  world  at  all  was  a  fatal  sin. 

She  did  not  eat  any  breakfast.  She  thought  she  would 
fast  until  she  had  done  what  she  intended  to  do.  It  had  been 
her  Aunt  Clotilde's  habit  to  fast  very  often. 

She  waited  anxiously  to  hear  that  her  Uncle  Bertrand  had 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  29 

left  his  room.  He  always  rose  late,  and  this  morning  he  was 
later  than  usual  as  he  had  had  a  long  gay  dinner  party  the 
night  before. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  before  she  heard  his  door  open. 
Then  she  went  quickly  to  the  staircase.  Her  heart  was  beat- 
ing so  fast  that  she  put  her  little  hand  to  her  side  and 
waited  a  moment  to  regain  her  breath.     She  felt  quite  cold. 

"  Perhaps  I  must  wait  until  he  has  eaten  his  breakfast," 
she  said.  "  Perhaps  I  must  not  disturb  him  yet.  It  would 
make  him  displeased.      I  will  wait — yes,  for  a  little  while." 

She  did  not  return  to  her  room,  but  waited  upon  the  stairs. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  long  time.  It  appeared  that  a  friend  break- 
fasted with  him.  She  heard  a  gentleman  come  in  and  recog- 
nized his  voice,  which  she  had  heard  before.  She  did  not 
know  what  the  gentleman's  name  was,  but  she  had  met  him 
going  in  and  out  with  her  uncle  once  or  twice,  and  had  thought 
he  had  a  kind  face  and  kind  eyes.  He  had  looked  at  her  in 
an  interested  way  when  he  spoke  to  her — even  as  if  he  were 
a  little  curious,  and  she  had  wondered  why  he  did  so. 

When  the  door  of  the  breakfast  room  opened  and  shut 
as  the  servants  went  in,  she  could  hear  the  two  laughing 
and  talking.  They  seemed  to  be  enjoying  themselves  very 
much.  Once  she  heard  an  order  given  for  the  mail  phaeton. 
They  were  evidently  going  out  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over. 

At  last  the  door  opened  and  they  were  coming  out.  Eliza- 
beth ran  down  the  stairs  and  stood  in  a  small  reception  room. 
Her  heart  began  to  beat  faster  than  ever. 


So  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH, 

"  The  blessed  martyrs  were  not  afraid,"  she  whispered  to 
herself. 

"Uncle  Bertrand!"  she  said,  as  he  approached,  and  she 
scarcely  knew  her  own  faint  voice.      "  Uncle  Bertrand " 

He  turned,  and  seeing  her,  started,  and  exclaimed,  rather 
impatiently — evidently  he  was  at  once  amazed  and  displeased 
to  see  her.  He  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  out,  and  the  sight  of  her 
odd  little  figure,  standing  in  its  straight  black  robe  between 
the  portieres,  the  slender  hands  clasped  on  the  breast,  the 
small  pale  face  and  great  dark  eyes  uplifted,  was  certainly  a 
surprise  to  him. 

"  Elizabeth  !"  he  said,  "what  do  you  wish  ?  Why  do  you 
come  downstairs  ?  And  that  impossible  dress  !  Why  do  you 
wear  it  again  ?    It  is  not  suitable." 

"  Uncle  Bertrand,"  said  the  child,  clasping  her  hands  still 
more  tightly,  her  eyes  growing  larger  in  her  excitement  and 
terror  under  his  displeasure,  "  it  is  that  I  want  money — a  great 
deal.  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  derange  you.  It  is  for  the 
poor.  Moreover,  the  curt  has  written  the  people  of  the  vil- 
lage are  ill — the  vineyards  did  not  yield  well.  They  must 
have  money.      I  must  send  them  some." 

Uncle  Bertrand  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That  is  the  message  of  monsieur  le  cure,  is  it  ?  "  he  said. 
"  He  wants  money !  My  dear  Elizabeth,  I  must  inquire 
further.  You  have  a  fortune,  but  I  cannot  permit  you  to 
throw  it  away.     You  are  a  child,  and  do  not  understand " 

"  But,"  cried  Elizabeth,  trembling  with  agitation,  "  they  are 


UNCLE   BERTRAND,       SAID    THE    CHILD,    CLASPING   HER   HANDS. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  33 

so  poor  when  one  does  not  help  them  ;  their  vineyards  are  so 
little,  and  if  the  year  is  bad  they  must  starve.  Aunt  Clotilde 
gave  to  them  every  year — even  in  the  good  years.  She  said 
they  must  be  cared  for  like  children." 

"  That  was  your  Aunt  Clotilde's  charity,"  replied  her  uncle. 
"  Sometimes  she  was  not  so  wise  as  she  was  devout.  I  must 
know  more  of  this.  I  have  no  time  at  present.  I  am  going 
out  of  town.  In  a  few  days  I  will  reflect  upon  it.  Tell  your 
maid  to  give  that  hideous  garment  away.  Go  out  to  drive — 
amuse  yourself — you  are  too  pale." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  his  handsome,  careless  face  in  utter 
helplessness.  This  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  her  ;  to 
him  it  meant  nothing. 

"But  it  is  winter,"  she  panted,  breathlessly;  "there  is 
snow.  Soon  it  will  be  Christmas,  and  they  will  have  nothing 
— no  candles  for  the  church,  no  little  manger  for  the  holy 
child,  nothing  for  the  poorest  ones.      And  the  children " 

"  It  shall  be  thought  of  later,"  said  Uncle  Bertrand.  "  I 
am  too  busy  now.  Be  reasonable,  my  child,  and  run  away. 
You  detain  me." 

He  left  her  with  a  slight  impatient  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
and  the  slight  amused  smile  on  his  lips.  She  heard  him 
speak  to  his  friend. 

"  She  was  brought  up  by  one  who  had  renounced  the 
world,"  he  said,  "  and  she  has  already  renounced  it  herself — 
pauvre  petite  enfant  /  At  eleven  years  she  wishes  to  devote 
her  fortune  to  the  poor  and  herself  to  the  Church." 


34  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

Elizabeth  shrank  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  portieres. 
Great  burning  tears  filled  her  eyes  and  slipped  down  her 
cheeks,  falling  upon  her  breast. 

"  He  does  not  care,"  she  said  ;  "  he  does  not  know.  And 
I  do  no  one  g-ood — no  one."  And  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  stood  sobbing  all  alone. 

When  she  returned  to  her  room  she  was  so  pale  that  her 
maid  looked  at  her  anxiously,  and  spoke  of  it  afterwards  to 
the  other  servants.  They  were  all  fond  of  Mademoiselle 
Elizabeth.     She  was  always  kind  and  gentle  to  everybody. 

Nearly  all  the  day  she  sat,  poor  little  saint !  by  her  window 
looking  out  at  the  passers-by  in  the  snowy  street.  But  she 
scarcely  saw  the  people  at  all,  her  thoughts  were  far  away,  in 
the  little  village  where  she  had  always  spent  her  Christmas 
before.  Her  Aunt  Clotilde  had  allowed  her  at  such  times  to 
do  so  much.  There  had  not  been  a  house  she  had  not 
carried  some  gift  to ;  not  a  child  who  had  been  forgotten. 
And  the  church  on  Christmas  mornine  had  been  so  beautiful 
with  flowers  from  the  hot-houses  of  the  chateau.  It  was  for 
the  church,  indeed,  that  the  conservatories  were  chiefly  kept 
up.  Mademoiselle  de  Rochemont  would  scarcely  have  per- 
mitted herself  such  luxuries. 

But  there  would  not  be  flowers  this  year,  the  chateau  was 
closed  ;  there  were  no  longer  gardeners  at  work,  the  church 
would  be  bare  and  cold,  the  people  would  have  no  gifts,  there 
would  be  no  pleasure  in  the  little  peasants'  faces.  Little 
Saint  Elizabeth  wrung  her  slight  hands  together  in  her  lap. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  35 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  what  can  I  do  ?  And  then  there  is  the 
poor  here — so  many.  And  I  do  nothing.  The  Saints  will  be 
angry  ;  they  will  not  intercede  for  me.      I  shall  be  lost !  " 

It  was  not  alone  the  poor  she  had  left  in  her  village  who 
were  a  grief  to  her.  As  she  drove  through  the  streets  she 
saw  now  and  then  haggard  faces  ;  and  when  she  had  ques- 
tioned a  servant  who  had  one  day  come  to  her  to  ask  for 
charity  for  a  poor  child  at  the  door,  she  had  found  that  in 
parts  of  this  great,  bright  city  which  she  had  not  seen,  there 
was  said  to  be  cruel  want  and  suffering,  as  in  all  great  cities. 

"And  it  is  so  cold  now,"  she  thought,  "with  the  snow  on 
the  ground." 

The  lamps  in  the  street  were  just  beginning  to  be  lighted 
when  her  Uncle  Bertrand  returned.  It  appeared  that  he  had 
brought  back  with  him  the  gentleman  with  the  kind  face. 
They  were  to  dine  together,  and  Uncle  Bertrand  desired  that 
Mademoiselle  Elizabeth  should  join  them.  Evidently  the 
journey  out  of  town  had  been  delayed  for  a  day  at  least. 
There  came  also  another  message  :  Monsieur  de  Rochemont 
wished  Mademoiselle  to  send  to  him  by  her  maid  a  certain 
box  of  antique  ornaments  which  had  been  given  to  her  by 
her  Aunt  Clotilde.  Elizabeth  had  known  less  of  the  value 
of  these  jewels  than  of  their  beauty.  She  knew  they  were 
beautiful,  and  that  they  had  belonged  to  her  Aunt  Clotilde  in 
the  gay  days  of  her  triumphs  as  a  beauty  and  a  brilliant  and 
adored  young  woman,  but  it  seemed  that  they  were  also  very 
curious,  and  Monsieur  de  Rochemont  wished  his  friend  to  see 


36  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

them.  When  Elizabeth  went  downstairs  she  found  them 
examining  them  together. 

"  They  must  be  put  somewhere  for  safe  keeping,"  Uncle 
Bertrand  was  saying.  "  It  should  have  been  done  before.  I 
will  attend  to  it." 

The  gentleman  with  the  kind  eyes  looked  at  Elizabeth 
with  an  interested  expression  as  she  came  into  the  room. 
Her  slender  little  figure  in  its  black  velvet  dress,  her  delicate 
little  face  with  its  large  soft  sad  eyes,  the  gentle  gravity  of 
her  manner  made  her  seem  quite  unlike  other  children. 

He  did  not  seem  simply  to  find  her  amusing,  as  her  Uncle 
Bertrand  did.  She  was  always  conscious  that  behind  Uncle 
Bertrand's  most  serious  expression  there  was  lurking  a  faint 
smile  as  he  watched  her,  but  this  visitor  looked  at  her  in  a 
different  way.  He  was  a  doctor,  she  discovered.  Dr.  Norris, 
her  uncle  called  him,  and  Elizabeth  wondered  if  perhaps  his 
profession  had  not  made  him  quick  of  sight  and  kind. 

She  felt  that  it  must  be  so  when  she  heard  him  talk  at 
dinner.  She  found  that  he  did  a  great  deal  of  work  among 
the  very  poor — that  he  had  a  hospital,  where  he  received 
little  children  who  were  ill — who  had  perhaps  met  with 
accidents,  and  could  not  be  taken  care  of  in  their  wretched 
homes.  He  spoke  most  frequently  of  terrible  quarters,  which 
he  called  Five  Points  ;  the  greatest  poverty  and  suffering 
was  there.  And  he  spoke  of  it  with  such  eloquent  sympathy, 
that  even  Uncle  Bertrand  beoran  to  listen  with  interest. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a  rich,  idle  fellow,  De  Roche- 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  37 

mont,  and  we  want  rich,  idle  fellows  to  come  and  look  into 
all  this  and  do  something  for  us.  You  must  let  me  take  you 
with  me  some  day." 

"  It  would  disturb  me  too  much,  my  good  Norris,"  said 
Uncle  Bertrand,  with  a  slight  shudder.  "  I  should  not  enjoy 
my  dinner  after  it." 

"  Then  go  without  your  dinner,"  said  Dr.  Norris.  "  These 
people  do.     You  have  too  many  dinners.     Give  up  one." 

Uncle  Bertrand  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

"  It  is  Elizabeth  who  fasts,"  he  said.  "  Myself,  I  prefer  to 
dine.  And  yet,  some  day,  I  may  have  the  fancy  to  visit  this 
place  with  you." 

Elizabeth  could  scarcely  have  been  said  to  dine  this  even- 
ing. She  could  not  eat.  She  sat  with  her  large,  sad  eyes 
fixed  upon  Dr.  Norris'  face  as  he  talked.  Every  word  he 
uttered  sank  deep  into  her  heart.  The  want  and  suffering  of 
which  he  spoke  were  more  terrible  than  anything  she  had 
ever  heard  of — it  had  been  nothing  like  this  in  the  village. 
Oh  !  no,  no.  As  she  thought  of  it  there  was  such  a  look  in 
her  dark  eyes  as  almost  startled  Dr.  Norris  several  times 
when  he  glanced  at  her,  but  as  he  did  not  know  the  par- 
ticulars of  her  life  with  her  aunt  and  the  strange  training  she 
had  had,  he  could  not  possibly  have  guessed  what  was  going 
on  in  her  mind,  and  how  much  effect  his  stories  were  having. 
The  beautiful  little  face  touched  him  very  much,  and  the 
pretty  French  accent  with  which  the  child  spoke  seemed 
very  musical  to  him,  and  added  a  great  charm  to  the  gentle, 


3 8  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

serious  answers  she  made  to  the  remarks  he  addressed  to  her. 
He  could  not  help  seeing  that  something  had  made  little 
Mademoiselle  Elizabeth  a  pathetic  and  singular  little  creat- 
ure, and  he  continually  wondered  what  it  was. 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  a  happy  child  ?"  he  asked  Monsieur 
de  Rochemont  when  they  were  alone  together  over  their 
cigars  and  wine. 

"Happy?"  said  Uncle  Bertrand,  with  his  light  smile. 
"  She  has  been  taught,  my  friend,  that  to  be  happy  upon 
earth  is  a  crime.  That  was  my  good  sister's  creed.  One 
must  devote  one's  self,  not  to  happiness,  but  entirely  to  good 
works.  I  think  I  have  told  you  that  she,  this  little  one, 
desires  to  give  all  her  fortune  to  the  poor.  Having  heard  you 
this  evening,  she  will  wish  to  bestow  it  upon  your  Five  Points." 

When,  having  retired  from  the  room  with  a  grave  and 
stately  little  obeisance  to  her  uncle  and  his  guest,  Elizabeth 
had  gone  upstairs,  it  had  not  been  with  the  intention  of  going 
to  bed.  She  sent  her  maid  away  and  knelt  before  her  altar 
for  a  long  time. 

"  The  Saints  will  tell  me  what  to  do,"  she  said.  "  The 
good  Saints,  who  are  always  gracious,  they  will  vouchsafe  to 
me  some  thought  which  will  instruct  me  if  I  remain  long 
enough  at  prayer." 

She  remained  at  prayer  a  long  time.  When  at  last  she 
arose  from  her  knees  it  was  long  past  midnight,  and  she  was 
tired  and  weak,  but  the  thought  had  not  been  given  to  her. 

But  just  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  pillow  it  came. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  39 

The  ornaments  given  to  her  by  her  Aunt  Clotilde  somebody 
would  buy  them.  They  were  her  own — it  would  be  right  to 
sell  them — to  what  better  use  could  they  be  put  ?  Was  it  not 
what  Aunt  Clotilde  would  have  desired  ?  Had  she  not  told 
her  stories  of  the  good  and  charitable  who  had  sold  the 
clothes  from  their  bodies  that  the  miserable  might  be  helped  ? 
Yes,  it  was  right.  These  things  must  be  done.  All  else  was 
vain  and  useless  and  of  the  world.  But  it  would  require 
courage — great  courage.  To  go  out  alone  to  find  a  place 
where  the  people  would  buy  the  jewels — perhaps  there  might 
be  some  who  would  not  want  them.  And  then  when  they 
were  sold  to  find  this  poor  and  unhappy  quarter  of  which 
her  uncle's  guest  had  spoken,  and  to  give  to  those  who 
needed — all  by  herself.  Ah  !  what  courage  it  would  require. 
And  then  Uncle  Bertrand,  some  day  he  would  ask  about  the 
ornaments,  and  discover  all,  and  his  anger  might  be  terrible. 
No  one  had  ever  been  angry  with  her  ;  how  could  she  bear 
it.  But  had  not  the  Saints  and  Martyrs  borne  everything  ? 
had  they  not  gone  to  the  stake  and  the  rack  with  smiles  ? 
She  thought  of  Saint  Elizabeth  and  the  cruel  Landgrave. 
It  could  not  be  even  so  bad  as  that — but  whatever  the  result 
was  it  must  be  borne. 

So  at  last  she  slept,  and  there  was  upon  her  gentle  little 
face  so  sweetly  sad  a  look  that  when  her  maid  came  to  waken 
her  in  the  morning  she  stood  by  the  bedside  for  some  moments 
looking  down  upon  her  pityingly. 

The  day  seemed  very  long  and  sorrowful  to  the  poor  child. 


4o  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

It  was  full  of  anxious  thoughts  and  plannings.  She  was  so 
innocent  and  inexperienced,  so  ignorant  of  all  practical  things. 
She  had  decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  wait  until  evening 
before  going  out,  and  then  to  take  the  jewels  and  try  to  sell 
them  to  some  jeweller.  She  did  not  understand  the  diffi- 
culties that  would  lie  in  her  way,  but  she  felt  very  timid. 

Her  maid  had  asked  permission  to  go  out  for  the  even- 
ing and  Monsieur  de  Rochemont  was  to  dine  out,  so  that 
she  found  it  possible  to  leave  the  house  without  attracting 
attention. 

As  soon  as  the  streets  were  lighted  she  took  the  case  of 
ornaments,  and  going  downstairs  very  quietly,  let  herself  out. 
The  servants  were  dining,  and  she  was  seen  by  none  of 
them. 

When  she  found  herself  in  the  snowy  street  she  felt 
strangely  bewildered.  She  had  never  been  out  unattended 
before,  and  she  knew  nothing  of  the  great  busy  city.  When 
she  turned  into  the  more  crowded  thoroughfares,  she  saw 
several  times  that  the  passers-by  glanced  at  her  curiously. 
Her  timid  look,  her  foreign  air  and  richly  furred  dress,  and  the 
fact  that  she  was  a  child  and  alone  at  such  an  hour,  could  not 
fail  to  attract  attention  ;  but  though  she  felt  confused  and 
troubled  she  went  bravely  on.  It  was  some  time  before  she 
found  a  jeweller's  shop,  and  when  she  entered  it  the  men 
behind  the  counter  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  But  she 
went  to  the  one  nearest  to  her  and  laid  the  case  of  jewels  on 
the  counter  before  him. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  41 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  in  her  soft  low  voice,  and  with  the 
pretty  accent,  "  I  wish  that  you  should  buy  these." 

The  man  stared  at  her,  and  at  the  ornaments,  and  then  at 
her  again. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  miss,"  he  said. 

Elizabeth  repeated  her  request. 

"  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Moetyler,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  of 
hesitation. 

He  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  shop  to  an  elderly  man 
who  sat  behind  a  desk.  After  he  had  spoken  a  few  words, 
the  elderly  man  looked  up  as  if  surprised ;  then  he  glanced  at 
Elizabeth  ;  then,  after  speaking  a  few  more  words,  he  came 
forward. 

"  You  wish  to  sell  these  ?  "  he  said,  looking  at  the  case  of 
jewels  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  Yes,"  Elizabeth  answered. 

He  bent  over  the  case  and  took  up  one  ornament  after  the 
other  and  examined  them  closely.  After  he  had  done  this  he 
looked  at  the  little  girl's  innocent,  trustful  face,  seeming  more 
puzzled  than  before. 

"  Are  they  your  own  ?  "  he  inquired. 

V  Yes,  they  are  mine,"  she  replied,  timidly. 

"  Do  you  know  how  much  they  are  worth  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  they  are  worth  much  money,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  I  have  heard  it  said  so." 

"  Do  your  friends  know  that  you  are  going  to  sell 
them  ?  " 


42  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

"  No,"  Elizabeth  said,  a  faint  color  rising  in  her  delicate 
face.      "  But  it  is  right  that  I  should  do  it." 

The  man  spent  a  few  moments  in  examining  them  again 
and,  having  done  so,  spoke  hesitatingly. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  cannot  buy  them,"  he  said.  "  It  would  be 
impossible,  unless  your  friends  first  gave  their  permission." 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Elizabeth,  and  tears  rose  in  her  eyes, 
making  them  look  softer  and  more  wistful  than  ever. 

"  We  could  not  do  it,"  said  the  jeweller.  "  It  is  out  of  the 
question  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Do  you  think,"  faltered  the  poor  little  saint,  "  do  you 
think  that  nobody  will  buy  them  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  was  the  reply.  "  No  respectable  firm 
who  would  pay  their  real  value.  If  you'll  take  my  advice, 
young    lady,    you    will    take    them    home    and   consult  your 

friends." 

He  spoke  kindly,  but  Elizabeth  was  overwhelmed  with 
disappointment.  She  did  not  know  enough  of  the  world  to 
understand  that  a  richly  dressed  little  girl  who  offered  valu- 
able jewels  for  sale  at  night  must  be  a  strange  and  unusual 
sight. 

When  she  found  herself  on  the  street  again,  her  long 
lashes  were  heavy  with  tears. 

"  If  no  one  will  buy  them,"  she  said,  "what  shall  I  do?" 

She  walked  a  long  way — so  long  that  she  was  very  tired — 
and  offered  them  at  several  places,  but  as  she  chanced  to 
enter  only  respectable  shops,  the  same  thing  happened  each 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  43 

time.  She  was  looked  at  curiously  and  questioned,  but  no 
one  would  buy. 

"  They  are  mine,"  she  would  say.  "  It  is  right  that  I  should 
sell  them."  But  everyone  stared  and  seemed  puzzled,  and  in 
the  end  refused. 

At  last,  after  much  wandering,  she  found  herself  in  a 
poorer  quarter  of  the  city;  the  streets  were  narrower  and 
dirtier,  and  the  people  began  to  look  squalid  and  wretchedly 
dressed ;  there  were  smaller  shops  and  dingy  houses.  She 
saw  unkempt  men  and  women  and  uncared  for  little  children. 
The  poverty  of  the  poor  she  had  seen  in  her  own  village 
seemed  comfort  and  luxury  by  contrast.  She  had  never 
dreamed  of  anything  like  this.  Now  and  then  she  felt  faint 
with  pain  and  horror.     But  she  went  on. 

"They  have  no  vineyards,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  No  trees 
and  flowers — it  is  all  dreadful — there  is  nothing.  They  need 
help  more  than  the  others.  To  let  them  suffer  so,  and  not  to 
give  them  charity,  would  be  a  great  crime." 

She  was  so  full  of  grief  and  excitement  that  she  had  ceased 
to  notice  how  everyone  looked  at  her — she  saw  only  the 
wretchedness,  and  dirt  and  misery.  She  did  not  know,  poor 
child  !  that  she  was  surrounded  by  danger — that  she  was  not 
only  in  the  midst  of  misery,  but  of  dishonesty  and  crime.  She 
had  even  forgotten  her  timidity — that  it  was  growing  late, 
and  that  she  was  far  from  home,  and  would  not  know  how  to 
return — she  did  not  realize  that  she  had  walked  so  far  that 
she  was  almost  exhausted  with  fatigue. 


44  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

She  had  brought  with  her  all  the  money  she  possessed.  If 
she  could  not  sell  the  jewels  she  could,  at  least,  give  some- 
thing to  someone  in  want.  But  she  did  not  know  to  whom 
she  must  eive  first.  When  she  had  lived  with  her  Aunt 
Clotilde  it  had  been  their  habit  to  visit  the  peasants  in  their 
houses.  Must  she  enter  one  of  these  houses — these  dreadful 
places  with  the  dark  passages,  from  which  she  heard  many 
times  riotous  voices,  and  even  cries,  issuing? 

"  But  those  who  do  good  must  feel  no  fear,"  she  thought. 
"  It  is  only  to  have  courage."  At  length  something  happened 
which  caused  her  to  pause  before  one  of  those  places.  She 
heard  sounds  of  pitiful  moans  and  sobbing  from  something 
crouched  upon  the  broken  steps.  It  seemed  like  a  heap  of 
rags,  but  as  she  drew  near  she  saw  by  the  light  of  the  street 
lamp  opposite  that  it  was  a  woman  with  her  head  in  her 
knees,  and  a  wretched  child  on  each  side  of  her.  The  children 
were  shivering  with  cold  and  making  low  cries  as  if  they  were 
frightened. 

Elizabeth  stopped  and  then  ascended  the  steps. 

"Why  is  it  that  you  cry  ?"  she  asked  gently.     "  Tell  me." 

The  woman  did  not  answer  at  first,  but  when  Elizabeth 
spoke  again  she  lifted  her  head,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  the 
slender  figure  in  its  velvet  and  furs,  and  the  pale,  refined 
little  face,  she  gave  a  great  start. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  on  yez  !  "  she  said  in  a  hoarse  voice 
which  sounded  almost  terrified.  "  Who  are  yez,  an'  what 
bees  ye  dow'  in  a  place  the  loike  o'  this?" 


"  WHY   IS   IT  THAT   YOU    CRY  ?  "    SHE   ASKED    GENTLY. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  47 

"  I  came,"  said  Elizabeth,  ''to  see  those  who  are  poor.  I 
wish  to  help  them.  I  have  great  sorrow  for  them.  It  is 
right  that  the  rich  should  help  those  who  want.  Tell  me  why 
you  cry,  and  why  your  little  children  sit  in  the  cold."  Every- 
body had  shown  surprise  to  whom  Elizabeth  had  spoken  to- 
night, but  no  one  had  stared  as  this  woman  did. 

"  It's  no  place  for  the  loike  o'  yez,"  she  said.  "  An'  it 
black  noight,  an'  men  and  women  wild  in  the  drink  ;  an'  Pat 
Harrigan  insoide  bloind  an'  mad  in  liquor,  an'  it's  turned  me 
an'  the  children  out  he  has  to  shlape  in  the  snow — an'  not 
the  furst  toime  either.  An'  it's  starvin'  we  are — starvin' 
an'  no  other,"  and  she  dropped  her  wretched  head  on  her 
knees  and  began  to  moan  again,  and  the  children  joined 
her. 

"  Don't  let  yez  daddy  hear  yez,"  she  said  to  them.  "  Whisht 
now — it's  come  out  an'  kill  yez  he  will." 

Elizabeth  began  to  feel  tremulous  and  faint. 

"  Is  it  that  they  have  hunger?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  a  bite  or  sup  have  they  had  this  day,  nor  yesterday," 
was  the  answer.      "  The  good  Saints  have  pity  on  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth,  "the  good  Saints  have  always  pity. 
I  will  go  and  get  some  food — poor  little  ones." 

She  had  seen  a  shop  only  a  few  yards  away — she  remem- 
bered passing  it.  Before  the  woman  could  speak  again  she 
was  gone. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  was  sent  to  them — it  is  the  answer  to 
my  prayer — it  was  not  in  vain  that  I  asked  so  long." 


4 8  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

When  she  entered  the  shop  the  few  people  who  were  in  it 
stopped  what  they  were  doing  to  stare  at  her  as  others  had 
done — but  she  scarcely  saw  that  it  was  so. 

"  Give  to  me  a  basket,"  she  said  to  the  owner  of  the  place. 
"  Put  in  it  some  bread  and  wine — some  of  the  things  which 
are  ready  to  eat.  It  is  for  a  poor  woman  and  her  little  ones 
who  starve." 

There  was  in  the  shop  among  others  a  red-faced  woman 
with  a  cunning  look  in  her  eyes.  She  sidled  out  of  the  place 
and  was  waiting  for  Elizabeth  when  she  came  out. 

"  I'm  starvin'  too,  little  lady,"  she  said.  "There's  many  of 
us  that  way,  an'  it's  not  often  them  with  money  care  about  it. 
Give  me  something  too,"  in  a  wheedling  voice. 

Elizabeth  looked  up  at  her,  her  pure  ignorant  eyes  full  of 
pity. 

"  I  have  great  sorrows  for  you,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  the 
poor  woman  will  share  her  food  with  you." 

"  It's  the  money  I  need,"  said  the  woman. 

"  I  have  none  left,"  answered  Elizabeth.  "  I  will  come 
again." 

"  It's  now  I  want  it,"  the  woman  persisted.  Then  she 
looked  covetously  at  Elizabeth's  velvet  fur-lined  and  trimmed 
cloak.  "  That's  a  pretty  cloak  you've  on,"  she  said.  "  You've 
got  another,  I  daresay." 

Suddenly  she  gave  the  cloak  a  pull,  but  the  fastening  did 
not  give  way  as  she  had  thought  it  would. 

"  Is  it  because  you  are  cold  that  you  want  it?"  said  Eliza- 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  49 

beth,   in  her  gentle,   innocent  way.      "  I   will  give   it   to  you. 
Take  it." 

Had  not  the  holy  ones  in  the  legends  given  their  gar- 
ments to  the  poor?     Why  should  she  not  give  her  cloak? 

In  an  instant  it  was  unclapsed  and  snatched  away,  and  the 
woman  was  gone.  She  did  not  even  stay  long  enough  to  give 
thanks  for  the  gift,  and  something  in  her  haste  and  rough- 
ness made  Elizabeth  wonder  and  gave  her  a  moment  of 
tremor. 

She  made  her  way  back  to  the  place  where  the  other  woman 
and  her  children  had  been  sitting ;  the  cold  wind  made  her 
shiver,  and  the  basket  was  very  heavy  for  her  slender  arm. 
Her  strength  seemed  to  be  giving  way. 

As  she  turned  the  corner,  a  great,  fierce  gust  of  wind 
swept  round  it,  and  caught  her  breath  and  made  her  stagger. 
She  thought  she  was  going  to  fall ;  indeed,  she  would  have 
fallen  but  that  one  of  the  tall  men  who  were  passing  put  out 
his  arm  and  caught  her.  He  was  a  well  dressed  man,  in  a 
heavy  overcoat ;  he  had  gloves  on.  Elizabeth  spoke  in  a 
faint  tone. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  began,  when  the  second  man  uttered  a 
wild  exclamation  and  sprang  forward. 

"Elizabeth  ! "  he  said,  "  Elizabeth  !  " 

Elizabeth  looked  up  and  uttered  a  cry  herself.  It  was  her 
Uncle  Bertrand  who  stood  before  her,  and  his  companion,  who 
had  saved  her  from  falling,  was  Dr.  Norris. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed   as  if  they  were  almost  struck 


5o  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

dumb  with  horror  ;  and  then  her  Uncle  Bertrand  seized  her 
by  the  arm  in  such  agitation  that  he  scarcely  seemed  himself — 
the  light,  satirical,  jesting  Uncle  Bertrand  she  had  known  at 
all. 

"What  does  it  mean  ?"  he  cried.  "What  are  you  doing 
here,  in  this  horrible  place  alone  ?  Do  you  know  where  it  is 
you  have  come  ?  What  have  you  in  your  basket  ?  Explain  ! 
explain  ! " 

The  moment  of  trial  had  come,  and  it  seemed  even  more 
terrible  than  the  poor  child  had  imagined.  The  long  strain 
and  exertion  had  been  too  much  for  her  delicate  body.  She 
felt  that  she  could  bear  no  more  ;  the  cold  seemed  to  have 
struck  to  her  very  heart.  She  looked  up  at  Monsieur  de 
Rochemont's  pale,  excited  face,  and  trembled  from  head  to 
foot.  A  strange  thought  flashed  into  her  mind.  Saint  Eliza- 
beth, of  Thuringia — the  cruel  Landgrave.  Perhaps  the  Saints 
would  help  her,  too,  since  she  was  trying  to  do  their  bidding. 
Surely,  surely  it  must  be  so ! 

"  Speak  !"  repeated  Monsieur  de  Rochemont.  "Why  is 
this  ?     The  basket — what  have  you  in  it  ?  " 

"  Roses,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  Roses."  And  then  her  strength 
deserted  her — she  fell  upon  her  knees  in  the  snow — the 
basket  slipped  from  her  arm,  and  the  first  thing  which  fell 
from  it  was— no,  not  roses, — there  had  been  no  miracle 
wrought — not  roses,  but  the  case  of  jewels  which  she  had  laid 
on  the  top  of  the  other  things  that  it  might  be  the  more 
easily  carried. 


mm 


\42*f^  '  t  > ' 


illllllliliMflli^f^ 


HER  STRENGTH   DESERTED   HER  — SHE    FELL   UPON   HER   KNEES   IN   THE   SNOW. 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  53 

"  Roses  ! "  cried  Uncle  Bertrand.  "  Is  it  that  the  child  is 
mad  ?     They  are  the  jewels  of  my  sister  Clotilde." 

Elizabeth  clasped  her  hands  and  leaned  towards  Dr.  Norris, 
the  tears  streaming  from  her  uplifted  eyes. 

"Ah!  monsieur,"  she  sobbed,  "you  will  understand.  It 
was  for  the  poor — they  suffer  so  much.  If  we  do  not  help 
them  our  souls  will  be  lost.      I  did  not  mean  to  speak  falsely. 

I   thought  the   Saints — the  Saints "     But  her  sobs  filled 

her  throat,  and  she  could  not  finish.  Dr.  Norris  stopped,  and 
took  her  in  his  strong  arms  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby. 

"  Quick  !"  he  said,  imperatively  ;  "we  must  return  to  the 
carriage,  De  Rochemont.     This  is  a  serious  matter." 

Elizabeth  clung  to  him  with  trembling  hands. 

"But  the  poor  woman  who  starves?"  she  cried.  "The 
little  children — they  sit  up  on  the  step  quite  near — the  food 
was  for  them  !     I  pray  you  give  it  to  them." 

"Yes,  they  shall  have  it,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Take  the 
basket,  De  Rochemont — only  a  few  doors  below.  And  it 
appeared  that  there  was  something  in  his  voice  which  seemed 
to  render  obedience  necessary,  for  Monsieur  de  Rochemont 
actually  did  as  he  was  told. 

For  a  moment  Dr.  Norris  put  Elizabeth  on  her  feet  again, 
but  it  was  only  while  he  removed  his  overcoat  and  wrapped 
it  about  her  slight  shivering  body. 

"You  are  chilled  through,  poor  child,"  he  said  ;  "and  you 
are  not  strong  enough  to  walk  just  now.  You  must  let  me 
carry  you." 


54.  LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH. 

It  was  true  that  a  sudden  faintness  had  come  upon  her, 
and  she  could  not  restrain  the  shudder  which  shook  her.  It 
still  shook  her  when  she  was  placed  in  the  carriage  which  the 
two  gentlemen  had  thought  it  wiser  to  leave  in  one  of  the 
more  respectable  streets  when  they  went  to  explore  the  worse 
ones  together. 

"  What  might  not  have  occurred  if  we  had  not  arrived  at 
that  instant  ! "  said  Uncle  Bertrand  when  he  got  into  the 
carriage.      "  As  it  is  who  knows  what  illness " 

"  It  will  be  better  to  say  as  little  as  possible  now,"  said  Dr. 
Norris. 

"  It  was  for  the  poor,"  said  Elizabeth,  trembling.  "  I  had 
prayed  to  the  Saints  to  tell  me  what  was  best.  I  thought  I 
must  go.  I  did  not  mean  to  do  wrong.  It  was  for  the 
poor." 

And  while  her  Uncle  Bertrand  regarded  her  with  a 
strangely  agitated  look,  and  Dr.  Norris  held  her  hand  be- 
tween his  strong  and  warm  ones,  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
pure,  pale  little  face, 

She  did  not  know  until  some  time  after  what  danger  she 
had  been  in,  that  the  part  of  the  city  into  which  she  had 
wandered  was  the  lowest  and  worst,  and  was  in  some  quarters 
the  home  of  thieves  and  criminals  of  every  class.  As  her 
Uncle  Bertrand  had  said,  it  was  impossible  to  say  what 
terrible  thing  might  have  happened  if  they  had  not  met  her 
so  soon.  It  was  Dr.  Norris  who  explained  it  all  to  her  as 
gently  and  kindly  as  was   possible.     She   had   always  been 


LITTLE  SAINT  ELIZABETH.  55 

fragile,  and  she  had  caught  a  severe  cold  which  caused  her 
an  illness  of  some  weeks.  It  was  Dr.  Norris  who  took  care 
of  her,  and  it  was  not  long  before  her  timidity  was  forgotten 
in  her  tender  and  trusting  affection  for  him.  She  learned  to 
watch  for  his  coming,  and  to  feel  that  she  was  no  longer 
lonely.  It  was  through  him  that  her  uncle  permitted  her  to 
send  to  the  cure  a  sum  of  money  large  enough  to  do  all  that 
was  necessary.  It  was  through  him  that  the  poor  woman 
and  her  children  were  clothed  and  fed  and  protected.  When 
she  was  well  enough,  he  had  promised  that  she  should  help 
him  among  his  own  poor.  And  through  him — though  she 
lost  none  of  her  sweet  sympathy  for  those  who  suffered — she 
learned  to  live  a  more  natural  and  child-like  life,  and  to  find 
that  there  were  innocent,  natural  pleasures  to  be  enjoyed  in 
the  world.  In  time  she  even  ceased  to  be  afraid  of  her  Uncle 
Bertrand,  and  to  be  quite  happy  in  the  great  beautiful  house. 
And  as  for  Uncle  Bertrand  himself,  he  became  very  fond  of 
her,  and  sometimes  even  helped  her  to  dispense  her  charities. 
He  had  a  light,  gay  nature,  but  he  was  kind  at  heart,  and 
always  disliked  to  see  or  think  of  suffering.  Now  and  then 
he  would  give  more  lavishly  than  wisely,  and  then  he  would 
say,  with  his  habitual  graceful  shrug  of  the  shoulders — 

"  Yes,  it  appears  I  am  not  discreet.  Finally,  I  think  I 
must  leave  my  charities  to  you,  my  good  Norris — to  you  and 
Little  Saint  Elizabeth." 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 


PREFATORY   NOTE. 

"  The  Story  of  Prince  Fairyfoot  "  was  originally  intended  to  be 
the  first  of  a  series,  under  the  general  title  of  "  Stories  from  the  Lost  Fairy- 
Book,  Re-told  by  the  Child  Who  Read  Them,"  concerning  which  Mrs. 
Burnett  relates  : 

"When  I  was  a  child  of  six  or  seven,  I  had  given  to  me  a  book  of  fairy-stories,  of 
which  I  was  very  fond.  Before  it  had  been  in  my  possession  many  months,  it  disappeared, 
and,  though  since  then  I  have  tried  repeatedly,  both  in  England  and  America,  to  find  a 
copy  of  it,  I  have  never  been  able  to  do  so.  I  asked  a  friend  in  the  Congressional  Library 
at  Washington — a  man  whose  knowledge  of  books  is  almost  unlimited — to  try  to  learn 
something  about  it  for  me.  But  even  he  could  find  no  trace  of  it ;  and  so  we  concluded 
it  must  have  been  out  of  print  some  time.  I  always  remembered  the  impression  the 
stories  had  made  on  me,  and,  though  most  of  them  had  become  very  faint  recollections,  I 
frequently  told  them  to  children,  with  additions  of  my  own.  The  story  of  Fairyfoot  I  had 
promised  to  tell  a  little  girl  ;  and,  in  accordance  with  the  promise,  I  developed  the  outline 
I  remembered,  introduced  new  characters  and  conversation,  wrote  it  upon  note  paper, 
inclosed  it  in  a  decorated  satin  cover,  and  sent  it  to  her.  In  the  first  place,  it  was 
re-written  merely  for  her,  with  no  intention  of  publication  ;  but  she  was  so  delighted  with 
it,  and  read  and  re-read  it  so  untiringly,  that  it  occurred  to  me  other  children  might  like  to 
hear  it  also.  So  I  made  the  plan  of  developing  and  re-writing  the  other  stories  in  like 
manner,  and  having  them  published  under  the  title  of  '  Stories  from  the  Lost  Fairy-Book, 
Re-told  by  the  Child  Who  Read  Them.'  " 

The  little  volume  in  question  Mrs.  Burnett  afterwards  discovered  to  be 
entitled  "  Granny's  Wonderful  Chair  and  the  Tales  it  Told." 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

i 

PART    I. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  in  the  days  of  the  fairies,  there  was 
in  the  far  west  country  a  kingdom  which  was  called 
by  the  name  of  Stumpinghame.  It  was  a  rather  cu- 
rious country  in  several  ways.  In  the  first  place,  the  people 
who  lived  there  thought  that  Stumpinghame  was  all  the 
world ;  they  thought  there  was  no  world  at  all  outside 
Stumpinghame.  And  they  thought  that  the  people  of  Stump- 
inghame knew  everything  that  could  possibly  be  known,  and 
that  what  they  did  not  know  was  of  no  consequence  at  all. 

One  idea  common  in  Stumpinghame  was  really  very 
unusual  indeed.  It  was  a  peculiar  taste  in  the  matter  of  feet. 
In  Stumpinghame,  the  larger  a  person's  feet  were,  the  more 
beautiful  and  elegant  he  or  she  was  considered  ;  and  the  more 
aristocratic  and  nobly  born  a  man  was,  the  more  immense 
were  his  feet.  Only  the  very  lowest  and  most  vulgar  persons 
were  ever  known  to  have  small  feet.  The  King's  feet  were 
simply  huge  ;  so  were  the  Queen's  ;  so  were  those  of  the  young 
princes  and  princesses.  It  had  never  occurred  to  anyone  that 
a  member  of  such  a  royal  family  could  possibly  disgrace  him- 
self by  being  born  with  small  feet.     Well,  you  may  imagine, 


5o  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 

then,  what  a  terrible  and  humiliating  state  of  affairs  arose 
when  there  was  born  into  that  royal  family  a  little  son,  a 
prince,  whose  feet  were  so  very  small  and  slender  and  delicate 
that  they  would  have  been  considered  small  even  in  other 
places  than  Stumpinghame.  Grief  and  confusion  seized  the 
entire  nation.  The  Queen  fainted  six  times  a  day ;  the  King 
had  black  rosettes  fastened  upon  his  crown  ;  all  the  flags  were 
at  half-mast ;  and  the  court  went  into  the  deepest  mourn- 
ing. There  had  been  born  to  Stumpinghame  a  royal  prince 
with  small  feet,  and  nobody  knew  how  the  country  could 
survive  it! 

Yet  the  disgraceful  little  prince  survived  it,  and  did  not 
seem  to  mind  at  all.  He  was  the  prettiest  and  best  tempered 
baby  the  royal  nurse  had  ever  seen.  But  for  his  small  feet, 
he  would  have  been  the  flower  of  the  family.  The  royal 
nurse  said  to  herself,  and  privately  told  his  little  royal 
highness's  chief  bottle-washer  that  she  "  never  see  a  hinfant 
as  took  notice  so,  and  sneezed  as  hintelligent."  But,  of  course, 
the  King  and  Queen  could  see  nothing  but  his  little  feet,  and 
very  soon  they  made  up  their  minds  to  send  him  away.  So 
one  day  they  had  him  bundled  up  and  carried  where  they 
thought  he  might  be  quite  forgotten.  They  sent  him  to  the 
hut  of  a  swineherd  who  lived  deep,  deep  in  a  great  forest 
which  seemed  to  end  nowhere. 

They  gave  the  swineherd  some  money,  and  some  clothes 
for  Fairyfoot,  and  told  him,  that  if  he  would  take  care  of  the 
child,  they  would  send  money  and  clothes  every  year.     As  for 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  61 

themselves,  they  only  wished  to  be  sure  of  never  seeing 
Fairyfoot  again. 

This  pleased  the  swineherd  well  enough.  He  was  poor, 
and  he  had  a  wife  and  ten  children,  and  hundreds  of  swine  to 
take  care  of,  and  he  knew  he  could  use  the  little  Prince's 
money  and  clothes  for  his  own  family,  and  no  one  would  find 
it  out.  So  he  let  his  wife  take  the  little  fellow,  and  as  soon 
as  the  King's  messengers  had  gone,  the  woman  took  the  royal 
clothes  off  the  Prince  and  put  on  him  a  coarse  little  night- 
gown, and  gave  all  his  things  to  her  own  children.  But  the 
baby  Prince  did  not  seem  to  mind  that — he  did  not  seem  to 
mind  anything,  even  though  he  had  no  name  but  Prince 
Fairyfoot,  which  had  been  given  him  in  contempt  by  the 
disgusted  courtiers.  He  grew  prettier  and  prettier  everyday, 
and  long  before  the  time  when  other  children  begin  to  walk, 
he  could  run  about  on  his  fairy  feet. 

The  swineherd  and  his  wife  did  not  like  him  at  all ;  in  fact, 
they  disliked  him  because  he  was  so  much  prettier  and  so 
much  brighter  than  their  own  clumsy  children.  And  the 
children  did  not  like  him,  because  they  were  ill  natured  and 
only  liked  themselves. 

So  as  he  grew  older  year  by  year,  the  poor  little  Prince  was 
more  and  more  lonely.  He  had  no  one  to  play  with,  and  was 
obliged  to  be  always  by  himself.  He  dressed  only  in  the 
coarsest  and  roughest  clothes;  he  seldom  had  enough  to  eat, 
and  he  slept  on  straw  in  a  loft  under  the  roof  of  the  swine- 
herd's hut.      But  all  this  did  not  prevent  his  being  strong  and 


62  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 

rosy  and  active.  He  was  as  fleet  as  the  wind,  and  he  had  a 
voice  as  sweet  as  a  bird's  ;  he  had  lovely  sparkling  eyes,  and 
bright  golden  hair ;  and  he  had  so  kind  a  heart  that  he  would 
not  have  done  a  wrong-  or  cruel  thing-  for  the  world.  As  soon 
as  he  was  big  enough,  the  swineherd  made  him  go  out  into 
the  forest  every  day  to  take  care  of  the  swine.  He  was 
obliged  to  keep  them  together  in  one  place,  and  if  any  of  them 
ran  away  into  the  forest,  Prince  Fairyfoot  was  beaten.  And 
as  the  swine  were  very  wild  and  unruly,  he  was  very  often 
beaten,  because  it  was  almost  impossible  to  keep  them  from 
wandering  off ;  and  when  they  ran  away,  they  ran  so  fast,  and 
through  places  so  tangled,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
follow  them. 

The  forest  in  which  he  had  to  spend  the  long  days  was  a 
very  beautiful  one,  however,  and  he  could  take  pleasure  in 
that.  It  was  a  forest  so  great  that  it  was  like  a  world  in  itself. 
There  were  in  it  strange,  splendid  trees,  the  branches  of  which 
interlocked  overhead,  and  when  their  many  leaves  moved  and 
rustled,  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  whispering  secrets.  There 
were  bright,  swift,  strange  birds,  that  flew  about  in  the  deep 
golden  sunshine,  and  when  they  rested  on  the  boughs,  they, 
too,  seemed  telling  one  another  secrets.  There  was  a  bright, 
clear  brook,  with  water  as  sparkling  and  pure  as  crystal,  and 
with  shining  shells  and  pebbles  of  all  colours  lying  in  the 
gold  and  silver  sand  at  the  bottom.  Prince  Fairyfoot  always 
thought  the  brook  knew  the  forest's  secret  also,  and  sang  it 
softly  to  the  flowers  as  it  ran  along.     And  as  for  the  flowers, 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  63 

they  were  beautiful ;  they  grew  as  thickly  as  if  they  had  been 
a  carpet,  and  under  them  was  another  carpet  of  lovely  green 
moss.  The  trees  and  the  birds,  and  the  brook  and  the 
flowers  were  Prince  Fairyfoot's  friends.  He  loved  them, 
and  never  was  very  lonely  when  he  was  with  them  ;  and  if 
his  swine  had  not  run  away  so  often,  and  if  the  swineherd 
had  not  beaten  him  so  much,  sometimes — indeed,  nearly  all 
summer — he  would  have  been  almost  happy.  He  used  to  lie 
on  the  fragrant  carpet  of  flowers  and  moss  and  listen  to  the 
soft  sound  of  the  running  water,  and  to  the  whispering  of 
the  waving  leaves,  and  to  the  songs  of  the  birds  ;  and  he 
would  wonder  what  they  were  saying  to  one  another,  and  if 
it  were  true,  as  the  swineherd's  children  said,  that  the  great 
forest  was  full  of  fairies.  And  then  he  would  pretend  it  was 
true,  and  would  tell  himself  stories  about  them,  and  make 
believe  they  were  his  friends,  and  that  they  came  to  talk  to 
him  and  let  him  love  them.  He  wanted  to  love  something 
or  somebody,  and  he  had  nothing  to  love — not  even  a  little 
dog. 

One  day  he  was  resting  under  a  great  green  tree,  feeling 
really  quite  happy  because  everything  was  so  beautiful.  He 
had  even  made  a  little  song  to  chime  in  with  the  brook's,  and 
he  was  singing  it  softly  and  sweetly,  when  suddenly,  as  he 
lifted  his  curly,  golden  head  to  look  about  him,  he  saw  that 
all  his  swine  were  gone.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  feeling  very 
much  frightened,  and  he  whistled  and  called,  but  he  heard 
nothing.     He  could  not  imagine  how  they  had  all  disappeared 


64  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

so  quietly,  without  making  any  sound ;  but  not  one  of  them 
was  anywhere  to  be  seen.  Then  his  poor  little  heart  began 
to  beat  fast  with  trouble  and  anxiety.  He  ran  here  and 
there  ;  he  looked  through  the  bushes  and  under  the  trees  ;  he 
ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  and  called  and  whistled,  and  searched  ; 
but  nowhere — nowhere  was  one  of  those  swine  to  be  found  ! 
He  searched  for  them  for  hours,  going  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  forest  than  he  had  ever  been  before.  He  saw  strange 
trees  and  strange  flowers,  and  heard  strange  sounds  :  and  at 
last  the  sun  began  to  go  down,  and  he  knew  he  would  soon 
be  left  in  the  dark.  His  little  feet  and  legs  were  scratched 
with  brambles,  and  were  so  tired  that  they  would  scarcely 
carry  him  ;  but  he  dared  not  go  back  to  the  swineherd's  hut 
without  finding  the  swine.  The  only  comfort  he  had  on  all 
the  long  way  was  that  the  little  brook  had  run  by  his  side, 
and  sung  its  song  to  him  ;  and  sometimes  he  had  stopped  and 
bathed  his  hot  face  in  it,  and  had  said,  "  Oh,  little  brook  !  you 
are  so  kind  to  me  !  You  are  my  friend,  I  know.  I  would  be 
so  lonely  without  you  ! " 

When  at  last  the  sun  did  go  down,  Prince  Fairyfoot  had 
wandered  so  far  that  he  did  not  know  where  he  was,  and  he 
was  so  tired  that  he  threw  himself  down  by  the  brook,  and 
hid  his  face  in  the  flowery  moss,  and  said,  "  Oh,  little  brook ! 
I  am  so  tired  I  can  go  no  further  ;  and  I  can  never  find 
them  ! " 

While  he  was  lying  there  in  despair,  he  heard  a  sound  in 
the   air  above   him,  and   looked   up  to  see  what  it  was.      It 


"why,"  exclaimed  fairyfoot    "i'm  surprised!" 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE-  FAIRYFOOT.  67 

sounded  like  a  little  bird  in  some  trouble.  And,  surely  enough^ 
there  was  a  huge  hawk  darting  after  a  plump  little  brown 
bird  with  a  red  breast.  The  little  bird  was  uttering  sharp 
frightened  cries,  and  Prince  Fairyfoot  felt  so  sorry  for  it  that 
he  sprang  up  and  tried  to  drive  the  hawk  away.  The  little 
bird  saw  him  at  once,  and  straightway  flew  to  him,  and  Fairy- 
foot  covered  it  with  his  cap.  And  then  the  hawk  flew  away 
in  a  great  rage. 

When  the  hawk  was  gone,  Fairyfoot  sat  down  again  and 
lifted  his  cap,  expecting,  of  course,  to  see  the  brown  bird  with 
the  red  breast.  But,  instead  of  a  bird,  out  stepped  a  little 
man,  not  much  higher  than  your  little  finger — a  plump  little 
man  in  a  brown  suit  with  a  bright  red  vest,  and  with  a  cocked 
hat  on. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Fairyfoot,  "  I'm  surprised  !" 

"  So  am  I,"  said  the  little  man,  cheerfully.  "  I  never  was 
more  surprised  in  my  life,  except  when  my  great-aunt's  grand- 
mother got  into  such  a  rage,  and  changed  me  into  a  robin- 
redbreast.     I  tell  you,  that  surprised  me  ! " 

"  I  should  think  it  might,"  said  Fairyfoot.  "  Why  did 
she  do  it  ?  " 

"  Mad,"  answered  the  little  man — "  that  was  what  was  the 
matter  with  her.  She  was  always  losing  her  temper  like  that, 
and  turning  people  into  awkward  things,  and  then  being  sorry 
for  it,  and  not  being  able  to  change  them  back  again.  If  you 
are  a  fairy,  you  have  to  be  careful.  If  you'll  believe  me,  that 
woman   once  turned  her  second-cousin's  sister-in-law  into  a 


68  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

mushroom,  and  somebody  picked  her,  and  she  was  made  into 
catsup,  which  is  a  thing  no  man  likes  to  have  happen  in  his 
family  ! " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Fairyfoot,  politely. 

"  The  difficulty  is,"  said  the  little  man,  "  that  some  fairies 
don't  graduate.  They  learn  to  turn  people  into  things,  but 
they  don't  learn  how  to  unturn  them  ;  and  then,  when  they 
get  mad  in  their  families — you  know  how  it  is  about  getting 
mad  in  families — there  is  confusion.  Yes,  seriously,  confusion 
arises.  It  arises.  That  was  the  way  with  my  great-aunt's 
grandmother.  She  was  not  a  cultivated  old  person,  and  she 
did  not  know  how  to  unturn  people,  and  now  you  see  the 
result.  Quite  accidentally  I  trod  on  her  favorite  corn  ;  she 
got  mad  and  changed  me  into  a  robin,  and  regretted  it  ever 
afterward.  I  could  only  become  myself  again  by  a  kind- 
hearted  person's  saving  me  from  a  great  danger.  You  are 
that  person.     Give  me  your  hand." 

Fairyfoot  held  out  his  hand.     The  little  man  looked  at  it. 

"  On  second  thought,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  shake  it — it's  too 
large.     I'll  sit  on  it,  and  talk  to  you." 

With  these  words,  he  hopped  upon  Fairyfoot's  hand,  and 
sat  down,  smiling  and  clasping  his  own  hands  about  his  tiny 
knees. 

"  I  declare,  it's  delightful  not  to  be  a  robin,"  he  said.  "Had 
to  go  about  picking  up  worms,  you  know.  Disgusting  busi- 
ness. I  always  did  hate  worms.  I  never  ate  them  myself — 
I  drew  the  line  there  ;  but  I  had  to  get  them  for  my  family." 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE -FAIRYFOOT.  69 

Suddenly  he  began  to  giggle,  and  to  hug  his  knees  up 
tight. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  know  what  I'm  laughing  at  ?"  he  asked 
Fairyfoot. 

"  Yes,"  Fairyfoot  answered. 

The  little  man  giggled  more  than  ever. 

"  I'm  thinking  about  my  wife,"  he  said — "the  one  I  had 
when  I  was  a  robin.  A  nice  rage  she'll  be  in  when  I  don't 
come  home  to-night !  She'll  have  to  hustle  around  and  pick 
up  worms  for  herself,  and  for  the  children  too,  and  it  serves 
her  right.  She  had  a  temper  that  would  embitter  the  life  of  a 
crow,  much  more  a  simple  robin.  I  wore  myself  to  skin  and 
bone  taking  care  of  her  and  her  brood,  and  how  I  did  hate 
'em  ! — bare,  squawking  things,  always  with  their  throats  gap- 
ing open.  They  seemed  to  think  a  parent's  sole  duty  was  to 
bring  worms  for  them." 

"  It  must  have  been  unpleasant,"  said  Fairyfoot. 

"  It  was  more  than  that,"  said  the  little  man  ;  "  it  used  to 
make  my  feathers  stand  on  end.  There  was  the  nest,  too  ! 
Fancy  being  changed  into  a  robin,  and  being  obliged  to  build 
a  nest  at  a  moment's  notice  !  I  never  felt  so  ridiculous  in  my 
life.  How  was  I  to  know  how  to  build  a  nest !  And  the 
worst  of  it  was  the  way  she  went  on  about  it." 

"  She  !  "  said  Fairyfoot. 

"  Oh,  her,  you  know,"  replied  the  little  man,  ungram- 
matically, "  my  wife.  She'd  always  been  a  robin,  and  she 
knew  how  to  build  a  nest ;  she  liked  to  order  me  about,  too 


70  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

— she  was  one  of  that  kind.  But,  of  course,  I  wasn't  going 
to  own  that  I  didn't  know  anything  about  nest-building.  I 
could  never  have  done  anything  with  her  in  the  world  if  I'd 
let  her  think  she  knew  as  much  as  I  did.  So  I  just  put 
things  together  in  a  way  of  my  own,  and  built  a  nest  that 
would  have  made  you  weep  !  The  bottom  fell  out  of  it  the 
first  night.     It  nearly  killed  me." 

"  Did  you  fall  out,  too  ? "  inquired  Fairyfoot. 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  the  little  man.  "  I  meant  that  it 
nearly  killed  me  to  think  the  eggs  weren't  in  it  at  the 
time." 

"  What  did  you  do  about  the  nest  ? "  asked  Fairyfoot. 

The  little  man  winked  in  the  most  improper  manner. 

"  Do  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  got  mad,  of  course,  and  told  her  that 
if  she  hadn't  interfered,  it  wouldn't  have  happened ;  said  it 
was  exactly  like  a  hen  to  fly  around  giving  advice  and  unset- 
tling one's  mind,  and  then  complain  if  things  weren't  right. 
I  told  her  she  might  build  the  nest  herself,  if  she  thought  she 
could  build  a  better  one.  She  did  it,  too  !  "  And  he  winked 
again. 

"Was  it  a  better  one  ?"  asked  Fairyfoot. 

The  little  man  actually  winked  a  third  time.  "  It  may 
surprise  you  to  hear  that  it  was,"  he  replied  ;  "but  it  didn't 
surprise  me.  By-the-by,"  he  added,  with  startling  suddenness, 
"  what's  your  name,  and  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Prince  Fairyfoot,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  I  have 
lost  my  master's  swine." 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  71 

"  My  name,"  said  the  little  man,  "  is  Robin  Goodfellow, 
and  I'll  find  them  for  you." 

He  had  a  tiny  scarlet  silk  pouch  hanging  at  his  girdle, 
and  he  put  his  hand  into  it  and  drew  forth  the  smallest  golden 
whistle  you  ever  saw. 

"  Blow  that,"  he  said,  giving  it  to  Fairyfoot,  "  and  take  care 
that  you  don't  swallow  it.  You  are  such  a  tremendous  creat- 
ure  ! 

Fairyfoot  took  the  whistle  and  put  it  very  delicately  to  his 
lips.  He  blew,  and  there  came  from  it  a  high,  clear  sound 
that  seemed  to  pierce  the  deepest  depths  of  the  forest. 

"  Blow  again,"  commanded  Robin  Goodfellow. 
.  Again  Prince  Fairyfoot  blew,  and  again  the  pure  clear 
sound  rang  through  the  trees,  and  the  next  instant  he  heard 
a  loud  rushing  and  tramping  and  squeaking  and  grunting,  and 
all  the  great  drove  of  swine  came  tearing  through  the  bushes 
and  formed  themselves  into  a  circle  and  stood  staring  at  him 
as  if  waiting  to  be  told  what  to  do  next. 

"  Oh,  Robin  Goodfellow,  Robin  Goodfellow  ! "  cried  Fairy- 
foot, "  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  ! " 

"  Not  as  grateful  as  I  am  to  you,"  said  Robin  Goodfellow. 
"  But  for  you  I  should  be  disturbing  that  hawk's  digestion  at 
the  present  moment,  instead  of  which,  here  I  am,  a  respect- 
able fairy  once  more,  and  my  late  wife  (though  I  ought  not  to 
call  her  that,  for  goodness  knows  she  was  early  enough  hust. 
ling  me  out  of  my  nest  before  daybreak,  with  the  unpleasant 
proverb  about  the  early  bird  catching  the  worm  !) — I  suppose 


72  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

I  should  say  my  early  wife — is  at  this  juncture  a  widow. 
Now,  where  do  you  live  ?  " 

Fairyfoot  told  him,  and  told  him  also  about  the  swineherd, 
and  how  it  happened  that,  though  he  was  a  prince,  he  had  to 
herd  swine  and  live  in  the  forest. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Robin  Goodfellow,  "that  is  a  disagree- 
able state  of  affairs.  Perhaps  I  can  make  it  rather  easier  for 
you.     You  see  that  is  a  fairy  whistle." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Fairyfoot. 

"  Well,"  continued  Robin  Goodfellow,  "  you  can  always 
call  your  swine  with  it,  so  you  will  never  be  beaten  again. 
Now,  are  you  ever  lonely  ?" 

"  Sometimes  I  am  very  lonely  indeed,"  answered  the  Prince. 
"  No  one  cares  for  me,  though  I  think  the  brook  is  sometimes 
sorry,  and  tries  to  tell  me  things." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Robin.  "  They  all  like  you.  I've  heard 
them  say  so." 

"  Oh,  have  you?"  cried  Fairyfoot,  joyfully. 

"Yes  ;  you  never  throw  stones  at  the  birds,  or  break  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  or  trample  on  the  flowers  when  you 
can  help  it." 

"  The  birds  sing  to  me,"  said  Fairyfoot,  "  and  the  trees  seem 
to  beckon  to  me  and  whisper  ;  and  when  I  am  very  lonely,  I 
lie  down  in  the  grass  and  look  into  the  eves  of  the  flowers  and 
talk  to  them.      I  would  not  hurt  one  of  them  for  all  the  world  ! " 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Robin,  "you  are  a  rather  good  little  fellow. 
Would  you  like  to  go  to  a  party  ?  " 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT.  73 

"  A  party ! "  said  Fairyfoot.     What  is  that  ?  " 

"  This  sort  of  thing,"  said  Robin  ;  and  he  jumped  up  and 
began  to  dance  around  and  to  kick  up  his  heels  gaily  in  the 
palm  of  Fairyfoot's  hand.  "Wine,  you  know,  and  cake,  and 
all  sorts  of  fun.  It  begins  at  twelve  to-night,  in  a  place  the 
fairies  know  of,  and  it  lasts  until  just  two  minutes  and  three 
seconds  and  a  half  before  daylight.  Would  you  like  to 
come  ?" 

"  Oh,"  cried  Fairyfoot,  "  I  should  be  so  happy  if  I 
might!" 

"Well,  you  may,"  said  Robin  ;  "I'll  take  you.  They'll  be 
delighted  to  see  any  friend  of  mine.  I'm  a  great  favourite  ; 
of  course,  you  can  easily  imagine  that.  It  was  a  great  blow 
to  them  when  I  was  changed ;  such  a  loss,  you  know.  In  fact, 
there  were  several  lady  fairies,  who — but  no  matter."  And 
he  gave  a  slight  cough,  and  began  to  arrange  his  necktie  with 
a  disgracefully  consequential  air,  though  he  was  trying  very 
hard  not  to  look  conceited ;  and  while  he  was  endeavouring 
to  appear  easy  and  gracefully  careless,  he  began  accidentally 
to  hum,  "  See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes,"  which  was  not 
the  right  tune  under  the  circumstances. 

"  But  for  you,"  he  said  next,  "  I  couldn't  have  given  them 
the  relief  and  pleasure  of  seeing  me  this  evening.  And  what 
ecstasy  it  will  be  to  them,  to  be  sure  !  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  it  broke  up  the  whole  thing.  They'll  faint  so — for  joy,  you 
know — just  at  first — that  is,  the  ladies  will.  The  men  won't 
like  it  at  all ;  and  I  don't  blame  'em.      I  suppose  I  shouldn't 


74  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

like  it — to  see  another  fellow  sweep  all  before  him.  That's 
what  I  do  ;  I  sweep  all  before  me."  And  he  waved  his  hand 
in  such  a  fine  large  gesture  that  he  overbalanced  himself,  and 
turned  a  somersault.  But  he  jumped  up  after  it  quite  un- 
disturbed. 

"  You'll  see  me  do  it  to-night,"  he  said,  knocking  the  dents 
out  of  his  hat — "  sweep  all  before  me."  Then  he  put  his  hat 
on,  and  his  hands  on  his  hips,  with  a  swaggering,  man-of- 
society  air.  "  I  say,"  he  said,  "  I'm  glad  you're  going.  I 
should  like  you  to  see  it." 

"  And  I  should  like  to  see  it,"  replied  Fairyfoot. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Goodfellow,  "you  deserve  it,  though 
that's  saying  a  great  deal.  You've  restored  me  to  them.  But 
for  you,  even  if  I'd  escaped  that  hawk,  I  should  have  had  to 
spend  the  night  in  that  beastly  robin's  nest,  crowded  into  a 
corner  by  those  squawking  things,  and  domineered  over  by 
her !  I  wasn't  made  for  that !  I'm  superior  to  it.  Domestic 
life  doesn't  suit  me.  I  was  made  for  society.  I  adorn  it. 
She  never  appreciated  me.  She  couldn't  soar  to  it.  When  I 
think  of  the  way  she  treated  me,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly 
getting  into  a  rage,  "  I've  a  great  mind  to  turn  back  into  a 
robin  and  peck  her  head  off  !  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  her  now  ? "  asked  Fairyfoot,  inno- 
cently. 

Mr.  Goodfellow  glanced  behind  him  in  great  haste,  and 
suddenly  sat  down. 

"No,  no  !"  he  exclaimed  in  a  tremendous  hurry;  "by  no 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT.  75 

means  !  She  has  no  delicacy.  And  she  doesn't  deserve  to 
see  me.  And  there's  a  violence  and  uncertainty  about  her 
movements  which  is  annoying  beyond  anything  you  can 
imagine.  No,  I  don't  want  to  see  her  !  I'll  let  her  go  un- 
punished for  the  present.  Perhaps  it's  punishment  enough 
for  her  to  be  deprived  of  me.  Just  pick  up  your  cap,  won't 
you  ?  and  if  you  see  any  birds  lying  about,  throw  it  at  them, 
robins  particularly." 

"  I  think  I  must  take  the  swine  home,  if  you'll  excuse  me," 
said  Fairyfoot,  "  I'm  late  now." 

"  Well,  let  me  sit  on  your  shoulder  and  I'll  go  with  you 
and  show  you  a  short  way  home,"  said  Goodfellow  ;  "  I  know 
all  about  it,  so  you  needn't  think  about  yourself  again.  In 
fact,  we'll  talk  about  the  party.  Just  blow  your  whistle,  and 
the  swine  will  go  ahead." 

Fairyfoot  did  so,  and  the  swine  rushed  through  the  forest 
before  them,  and  Robin  Goodfellow  perched  himself  on  the 
Prince's  shoulder,  and  chatted  as  they  went. 

It  had  taken  Fairyfoot  hours  to  reach  the  place  where  he 
found  Robin,  but  somehow  it  seemed  to  him  only  a  very 
short  time  before  they  came  to  the  open  place  near  the 
swineherd's  hut ;  and  the  path  they  had  walked  in  had  been 
so  pleasant  and  flowery  that  it  had  been  delightful  all  the 
way. 

"  Now,"  said  Robin  when  they  stopped,  "  if  you  will  come 
here  to-night  at  twelve  o'clock,  when  the  moon  shines  under 
this  tree,  you  will  find  me  waiting  for  you.     Now  I'm  going. 


j6  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

Good-bye  !  "  And  he  was  gone  before  the  last  word  was 
quite  finished. 

Fairyfoot  went  towards  the  hut,  driving  the  swine  before 
him,  and  suddenly  he  saw  the  swineherd  come  out  of  his 
house,  and  stand  staring  stupidly  at  the  pigs.  He  was  a  very 
coarse,  hideous  man,  with  bristling  yellow  hair,  and  little  eyes, 
and  a  face  rather  like  a  pig's,  and  he  always  looked  stupid,  but 
just  now  he  looked  more  stupid  than  ever.  He  seemed  dumb 
with  surprise. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  swine  ? "  he  asked  in  his 
hoarse  voice,  which  was  rather  piglike,  too. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Fairyfoot,  feeling  a  little 
alarmed.     "  What  is  the  matter  with  them  ?  " 

"  They  are  four  times  fatter,  and  five  times  bigger,  and  six 
times  cleaner,  and  seven  times  heavier,  and  eight  times  hand- 
somer than  they  were  when  you  took  them  out,"  the  swine- 
herd said. 

"  I've  done  nothing  to  them,"  said  Fairyfoot.  "They  ran 
away,  but  they  came  back  again." 

The  swineherd  went  lumbering  back  into  the  hut,  and 
called  his  wife. 

"  Come  and  look  at  the  swine,"  he  said. 

And  then  the  woman  came  out,  and  stared  first  at  the 
swine  and  then  at  Fairyfoot. 

"  He  has  been  with  the  fairies,"  she  said  at  last  to  her 
husband ;  "  or  it  is  because  he  is  a  king's  son.  We  must 
treat  him  better  if  he  can  do  wonders  like  that. 


"what's  the  matter  with  the  swine?"  he  asked. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 


79 


PART  II. 

In  went  the  shepherd's  wife,  and  she  prepared  quite  a 
good  supper  for  Fairyfoot  and  gave  it  to  him.  But  Fairyfoot 
was  scarcely  hungry  at  all ;  he  was  so  eager  for  the  night  to 
come,  so  that  he  might  see  the  fairies.  When  he  went  to  his 
loft  under  the  roof,  he  thought  at  first  that  he  could  not  sleep  ; 
but  suddenly  his  hand  touched  the  fairy  whistle  and  he  fell 
asleep  at  once,  and  did  not  waken  again  until  a  moonbeam 
fell  brightly  upon  his  face  and  aroused  him.  Then  he  jumped 
up  and  ran  to  the  hole  in  the  wall  to  look  out,  and  he  saw 
that  the  hour  had  come,  and  the  moon  was  so  low  in  the  sky 
that  its  slanting  light  had  crept  under  the  oak-tree. 

He  slipped  downstairs  so  lightly  that  his  master  heard 
nothing,  and  then  he  found  himself  out  in  the  beautiful  night 
with  the  moonlight  so  bright  that  it  was  lighter  than  day- 
time. And  there  was  Robin  Goodfellow  waiting  for  him 
under  the  tree  !  He  was  so  finely  dressed  that,  for  a  moment, 
Fairyfoot  scarcely  knew  him.  His  suit  was  made  out  of  the 
purple  velvet  petals  of  a  pansy,  which  was  far  finer  than  any 
ordinary  velvet,  and  he  wore  plumes  and  tassels,  and  a  ruffle 
around  his  neck,  and  in  his  belt  was  thrust  a  tiny  sword,  not 
half  as  big  as  the  finest  needle. 

"Take  me  on  your  shoulder,"  he  said  to  Fairyfoot,  "and 
I  will  show  you  the  way." 

Fairyfoot  took  him  up,  and  they  went  their  way  through 


80  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 

the  forest.  And  the  strange  part  of  it  was  that  though  Fairy- 
foot  thought  he  knew  all  the  forest  by  heart,  every  path 
they  took  was  new  to  him,  and  more  beautiful  than  anything 
he  had  ever  seen  before.  The  moonlight  seemed  to  grow 
brighter  and  purer  at  every  step,  and  the  sleeping  flowers 
sweeter  and  lovelier,  and  the  moss  greener  and  thicker. 
Fairy  foot  felt  so  happy  and  gay  that  he  forgot  he  had  ever 
been  sad  and  lonely  in  his  life. 

Robin  Goodfellow,  too,  seemed  to  be  in  very  good  spirits. 
He  related  a  great  many  stories  to  Fairyfoot,  and,  singularly 
enough,  they  were  all  about  himself  and  divers  and  sundry 
fairy  ladies  who  had  been  so  very  much  attached  to  him  that 
he  scarcely  expected  to  find  them  alive  at  the  present  mo- 
ment. He  felt  quite  sure  they  must  have  died  of  grief  in  his 
absence. 

"  I  have  caused  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  the  course  of  my 
life,"  he  said,  regretfully,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  have  some- 
times wished  I  could  avoid  it,  but  that  is  impossible.  Ahem  ! 
When  my  great-aunt's  grandmother  rashly  and  inopportunely 
changed  me  into  a  robin,  I  was  having  a  little  flirtation  with 
a  little  creature  who  was  really  quite  attractive.  I  might 
have  decided  to  engage  myself  to  her.  She  was  very  charming. 
Her  name  was  Gauzita.  To-morrow  I  shall  go  and  place 
flowers  on  her  tomb." 

"  I  thought  fairies  never  died,"  said  Fairyfoot. 

"  Only  on  rare  occasions,  and  only  from  love,"  answered 
Robin.      "They  needn't  die  unless  they  wish  to.      They  have 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 


been  known  to  do  it  through  love.  They  frequently  wish 
they  hadn't  afterward — in  fact,  invariably — and  then  they  can 
come  to  life  again.     But  Gauzita " 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  she  is  dead  ?"  asked  Fairyfoot. 

"Sure!"  cried  Mr.  Goodfellow,  in  wild  indignation,  "why, 
she  hasn't  seen  me  for  a  couple  of  years.  I've  moulted  twice 
since  last  we  meet.  I  congratulate  myself  that  she  didn't  see 
me  then,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  voice.  "  Of  course  she's  dead," 
he  added,  with  solemn  emphasis  ;  "as  dead  as  a  door  nail." 

Just  then  Fairyfoot  heard  some  enchanting  sounds,  faint, 
but  clear.  They  were  sounds  of  delicate  music  and  of  tiny 
laughter,  like  the  ringing  of  fairy  bells. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Robin  Goodfellow,  "  there  they  are  !  But  it 
seems  to  me  they  are  rather  gay,  considering  they  have  not 
seen  me  for  so  long.     Turn  into  the  path." 

Almost  immediately  they  found  themselves  in  a  beautiful 
little  dell,  filled  with  moonlight,  and  with  glittering  stars 
in  the  cup  of  every  flower ;  for  there  were  thousands  of 
dewdrops,  and  every  dewdrop  shone  like  a  star.  There 
were  also  crowds  and  crowds  of  tiny  men  and  women,  all 
beautiful,  all  dressed  in  brilliant,  delicate  dresses,  all  laughing 
or  dancing  or  feasting  at  the  little  tables,  which  were  loaded 
with  every  dainty  the  most  fastidious  fairy  could  wish  for. 

"  Now,"  said  Robin  Goodfellow,  "  you  shall  see  me  sweep 
all  before  me.     Put  me  down." 

Fairyfoot  put  him  down,  and  stood  and  watched  him  while 
he  walked  forward  with   a  very  grand   manner.     He  went 


82  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRFFOOT, 

straight  to  the  gayest  and  largest  group  he  could  see.  It 
was  a  group  of  gentlemen  fairies,  who  were  crowding  around 
a  lily  of  the  valley,  on  the  bent  stem  of  which  a  tiny  lady 
fairy  was  sitting,  airily  swaying  herself  to  and  fro,  and  laugh- 
ing and  chatting  with  all  her  admirers  at  once. 

She  seemed  to  be  enjoying  herself  immensely ;  indeed,  it 
was  disgracefully  plain  that  she  was  having  a  great  deal  of 
fun.  One  gentleman  fairy  was  fanning  her,  one  was  holding 
her  programme,  one  had  her  bouquet,  another  her  little  scent 
bottle,  and  those  who  had  nothing  to  hold  for  her  were 
scowling  furiously  at  the  rest.  It  was  evident  that  she  was 
very  popular,  and  that  she  did  not  object  to  it  at  all ;  in 
fact,  the  way  her  eyes  sparkled  and  danced  was  distinctly 
reprehensible. 

"  You  have  engaged  to  dance  the  next  waltz  with  every 
one  of  us  ! "  said  one  of  her  adorers.  "  How  are  you  going  to 
doit?" 

"  Did  I  engage  to  dance  with  all  of  you  ?"  she  said,  giving 
her  lily  stem  the  sauciest  little  swing,  which  set  all  the  bells 
ringing.      "  Well,  I  am  not  going  to  dance  it  with  all." 

"  Not  with  me  f  "  the  admirer  with  the  fan  whispered  in 
her  ear. 

She  gave  him  the  most  delightful  little  look,  just  to  make 
him  believe  she  wanted  to  dance  with  him  but  really  couldn't. 
Robin  Goodfellow  saw  her.  And  then  she  smiled  sweetly 
upon  all  the  rest,  every  one  of  them.  Robin  Goodfellow  saw 
that,  too. 


ALMOST   IMMEDIATELY   THEY   FOUND   THEMSELVES   IN  A  BEAUTIFUL   LITTLE   DELL. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  85 

"  I  am  going  to  sit  here  and  look  at  you,  and  let  you  talk 
to  me,"  she  said.      "  I  do  so  enjoy  brilliant  conversation." 

All  the  gentlemen  fairies  were  so  much  elated  by  this  that 
they  began  to  brighten  up,  and  settle  their  ruffs,  and  fall 
into  graceful  attitudes,  and  think  of  sparkling  things  to  say ; 
because  every  one  of  them  knew,  from  the  glance  of  her  eyes 
in  his  direction,  that  he  was  one  whose  conversation  was 
brilliant ;  every  one  knew  there  could  be  no  mistake  about 
its  being  himself  that  she  meant.  The  way  she  looked  just 
proved  it.  Altogether  it  was  more  than  Robin  Goodfellow 
could  stand,  for  it  was  Gauzita  who  was  deporting  herself 
in  this  unaccountable  manner,  swinging  on  lily  stems,  and 
"going  on,"  so  to  speak,  with  several  parties  at  once,  in  a 
way  to  chill  the  blood  of  any  proper  young  lady  fairy — who 
hadn't  any  partner  at  all.      It  was  Gauzita  herself. 

He  made  his  way  into  the  very  centre  of  the  group. 

"  Gauzita  ! "  he  said.  He  thought,  of  course,  she  woulc 
drop  right  off  her  lily  stem  ;  but  she  didn't.  She  simply 
stopped  swinging  a  moment,  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Gracious  !"  she  exclaimed.      "  And  who  are  you  ?  " 

"Who  am  I  ?"  cried  Mr.  Goodfellow,  severely.  "Don't 
you  remember  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  coolly ;  "  I  don't,  not  in  the  least." 

Robin  Goodfellow  almost  gasped  for  breath.  He  had  never 
met  with  anything  so  outrageous  in  his  life. 

"You  don't  remember  me?"  he  cried.  "Me/  Why,  it's 
impossible  ! " 


86  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

"  Is  it?"  said  Gauzita,  with  a  touch  of  dainty  impudence. 
"  What's  your  name  ?" 

Robin  Goodfellow  was  almost  paralyzed.  Gauzita  took  up 
a  midget  of  an  eyeglass  which  she  had  dangling  from  a  thread 
of  a  gold  chain,  and  she  stuck  it  in  her  eye  and  tilted  her 
impertinent  little  chin  and  looked  him  over.  Not  that  she 
was  near-sighted — not  a  bit  of  it ;  it  was  just  one  of  her  tricks 
and  manners. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  she  said,  "  you  do  look  a  trifle  familiar.      It 

isn't,  it  can't  be,  Mr.  ,  Mr.  ,"  then  she  turned  to  the 

adorer,  who  held  her  fan,  "  it  can't  be  Mr.  ,  the  one  who 

was  changed  into  a  robin,  you  know,"  she  said.  "Such  a 
ridiculous  thing  to  be  changed  into  !    What  was  his  name  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  whom  you  mean.  Mr. ,  ah — Good- 
fellow  ! "  said  the  fairy  with  the  fan. 

"  So  it  was,"  she  said,  looking  Robin  over  again.  "  And 
he  has  been  pecking  at  trees  and  things,  and  hopping  in  and 
out  of  nests  ever  since,  I  suppose.  How  absurd  !  And  we 
have  been  enjoying  ourselves  so  much  since  he  went  away  !  I 
think  I  never  did  have  so  lovely  a  time  as  I  have  had  during 
these  last  two  years.  I  began  to  know  you,"  she  added,  in  a 
kindly  tone,  "just  about  the  time  he  went  away." 

"You  have  been  enjoying  yourself?"  almost  shrieked 
Robin  Goodfellow. 

"  Well,"  said  Gauzita,  in  unexcusable  slang,  "  I  must  smile." 
And  she  did  smile. 

"  And  nobody  has  pined  away  and  died  ?"  cried  Robin. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT.  87 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Gauzita,  swinging  herself  and  ringing  her 
bells  again.     "  I  really  haven't  had  time." 

Robin  Goodfellow  turned  around  and  rushed  out  of  the 
group.  He  regarded  this  as  insulting.  He  went  back  to 
Fairyfoot  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  tripped  on  his  sword  and 
fell,  and  rolled  over  so  many  times  that  Fairyfoot  had  to  stop 
him  and  pick  him  up. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  "  asked  Fairyfoot. 

"  No,"  said  Robin  ;  "  she  isn't." 

"  He  sat  down  on  a  small  mushroom  and  clasped  his  hands 
about  his  knees  and  looked  mad — just  mad.  Angry  or  in- 
dignant wouldn't  express  it. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  and  be  a  misanthrope,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  !  I  wouldn't,"  said  Fairyfoot.  He  didn't  know  what 
a  misanthrope  was,  but  he  thought  it  must  be  something 
unpleasant. 

"  Wouldn't  you  ?"  said  Robin,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  No,"  answered  Fairyfoot. 

"  Well,"  said  Robin,  "  I  guess  I  won't.  Let's  go  and  have 
some  fun.  They  are  all  that  way.  You  can't  depend  on  any 
of  them.  Never  trust  one  of  them.  I  believe  that  creature 
has  been  engaged  as  much  as  twice  since  I  left.  By  a  singular 
coincidence,"  he  added,  "  I  have  been  married  twice  myself — 
but,  of  course,  that's  different.  I'm  a  man,  you  know,  and — 
well,  it's  different.  We  won't  dwell  on  it.  Let's  go  and 
dance.  But  wait  a  minute  first."  He  took  a  little  bottle 
from  his  pocket. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 


"  If  you  remain  the  size  you  are,"  he  continued,  "  you  will 
tread  on  whole  sets  of  lancers  and  destroy  entire  germans. 
If  you  drink  this,  you  will  become  as  small  as  we  are  ;  and 
then,  when  you  are  going  home,  I  will  give  you  something  to 
make  you  large  again."  Fairyfoot  drank  from  the  little  flagon, 
and  immediately  he  felt  himself  growing  smaller  and  smaller 
until  at  last  he  was  as  small  as  his  companion. 

"  Now,  come  on,"  said  Robin. 

On  they  went  and  joined  the  fairies,  and  they  danced  and 
played  fairy  games  and  feasted  on  fairy  dainties,  and  were  so 
gay  and  happy  that  Fairyfoot  was  wild  with  joy.  Everybody 
made  him  welcome  and  seemed  to  like  him,  and  the  lady 
fairies  were  simply  delightful,  especially  Gauzita,  who  took 
a  great  fancy  to  him.  Just  before  the  sun  rose,  Robin 
gave  him  something  from  another  flagon,  and  he  grew 
large  again,  and  two  minutes  and  three  seconds  and  a  half 
before  daylight  the  ball  broke  up,  and  Robin  took  him 
home  and  left  him,  promising  to  call  for  him  the  next 
night. 

Every  night  throughout  the  whole  summer  the  same  thing 
happened.  At  midnight  he  went  to  the  fairies'  dance  ;  and  at 
two  minutes  and  three  seconds  and  a  half  before  dawn  he 
came  home.  He  was  never  lonely  any  more,  because  all  day 
long  he  could  think  of  what  pleasure  he  would  have  when  the 
night  came  ;  and,  besides  that,  all  the  fairies  were  his  friends. 
But  when  the  summer  was  coming  to  an  end,  Robin  Good- 
fellow  said  to  him  :  "  This  is  our  last  dance — at  least  it  will 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT.  89 

be  our  last  for  some  time.  At  this  time  of  the  year  we 
always  go  back  to  our  own  country,  and  we  don't  return  until 
spring." 

This  made  Fairyfoot  very  sad.  He  did  not  know  how  he 
could  bear  to  be  left  alone  again,  but  he  knew  it  could  not  be 
helped  ;  so  he  tried  to  be  as  cheerful  as  possible,  and  he  went 
to  the  final  festivities,  and  enjoyed  himself  more  than  ever 
before,  and  Gauzita  gave  him  a  tiny  ring  for  a  parting  gift. 
But  the  next  night,  when  Robin  did  not  come  for  him,  he  felt 
very  lonely  indeed,  and  the  next  day  he  was  so  sorrowful  that 
he  wandered  far  away  into  the  forest,  in  the  hope  of  finding 
something  to  cheer  him  a  little.  He  wandered  so  far  that  he 
became  very  tired  and  thirsty,  and  he  was  just  making  up  his 
mind  to  go  home,  when  he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of 
falling  water.  It  seemed  to  come  from  behind  a  thicket  of 
climbing  roses  ;  and  he  went  towards  the  place  and  pushed 
the  branches  aside  a  little,  so  that  he  could  look  through. 
What  he  saw  was  a  great  surprise  to  him.  Though  it  was 
the  end  of  summer,  inside  the  thicket  the  roses  were  bloom- 
ing in  thousands  all  around  a  pool  as  clear  as  crystal,  into 
which  the  sparkling  water  fell  from  a  hole  in  the  rock  above. 
It  was  the  most  beautiful,  clear  pool  that  Fairyfoot  had  ever 
seen,  and  he  pressed  his  way  through  the  rose  branches,  and, 
entering  the  circle  they  inclosed,  he  knelt  by  the  water  and 
drank. 

Almost  instantly  his  feeling  of  sadness  left  him,  and  he  felt 
quite  happy  and  refreshed.     He  stretched  himself  on  the  thick 


9o  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 

perfumed  moss,  and  listened  to  the  tinkling  of  the  water,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  he  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awakened  the  moon  was  shining,  the  pool 
sparkled  like  a  silver  plaque  crusted  with  diamonds,  and  two 
nightingales  were  singing  in  the  branches  over  his  head. 
And  the  next  moment  he  found  out  that  he  understood  their 
language  just  as  plainly  as  if  they  had  been  human  beings 
instead  of  birds.  The  water  with  which  he  had  quenched  his 
thirst  was  enchanted,  and  had  given  him  this  new  power. 

"Poor  boy!"  said  one  nightingale,  "  he  looks  tired;  I 
wonder  where  he  came  from." 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  said  the  other,  "  is  it  possible  you  don't 
know  that  he  is  Prince  Fairyfoot  ?  " 

"  What !  "  said  the  first  nightingale — "  the  King  of  Stump- 
inghame's  son,  who  was  born  with  small  feet  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  second.  "  And  the  poor  child  has  lived 
in  the  forest,  keeping  the  swineherd's  pigs  ever  since.  And 
he  is  a  very  nice  boy,  too — never  throws  stones  at  birds  or 
robs  nests." 

"  What  a  pity  he  doesn't  know  about  the  pool  where  the 
red  berries  grow  ! "  said  the  first  nightingale. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT.  91 


PART    III. 

"  What  pool — and  what  red  berries  ?  "  asked  the  second 
nightingale. 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  said  the  first,  "  is  it  possible  you  don't 
know  about  the  pool  where  the  red  berries  grow — the  pool 
where  the  poor,  dear  Princess  Goldenhair  met  with  her  mis- 
fortune ?  " 

"  Never  heard  of  it,"  said  the  second  nightingale,  rather 
crossly. 

"  Well,"  explained  the  other,  "  you  have  to  follow  the 
brook  for  a  day  and  three-quarters,  and  then  take  all  the 
paths  to  the  left  until  you  come  to  the  pool.  It  is  very  ugly 
and  muddy,  and  bushes  with  red  berries  on  them  grow  around 
it." 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  said  her  companion;  "and  what 
happened  to  the  Princess  Goldenhair?" 

"  Don't  you  know  that,  either?"  exclaimed  her  friend. 

"  No.  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  first  nightingale,  "  it  was  very  sad.  She 
went  out  with  her  father,  the  King,  who  had  a  hunting  party ; 
and  she  lost  her  way,  and  wandered  on  until  she  came  to  the 
pool.  Her  poor  little  feet  were  so  hot  that  she  took  off 
her  gold-embroidered  satin  slippers,  and  put  them  into  the 
water — her  feet,  not  the  slippers — and  the  next  minute  they 
began  to  grow  and  grow,  and  to  get  larger  and  larger,  until 


92  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT. 

they  were  so  immense  she  could  hardly  walk  at  all ;  and 
though  all  the  physicians  in  the  kingdom  have  tried  to  make 
them  smaller,  nothing  can  be  done,  and  she  is  perfectly  un- 
happy." 

"  What  a  pity  she  doesn't  know  about  this  pool !  "  said  the 
other  bird.  "  If  she  just  came  here  and  bathed  them  three 
times  in  the  water,  they  would  be  smaller  and  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  and  she  would  be  more  lovely  than  she  has  ever 
been." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  her  companion  ;  "but,  you  know,  if  we 
once  let  people  know  what  this  water  will  do,  we  should  be 
overrun  with  creatures  bathing  themselves  beautiful,  and 
trampling  our  moss  and  tearing  down  our  rose-trees,  and  we 
should  never  have  any  peace." 

"  That  is  true,"  agreed  the  other. 

Very  soon  after  they  flew  away,  and  Fairyfoot  was  left 
alone.  He  had  been  so  excited  while  they  were  talking  that 
he  had  been  hardly  able  to  lie  still.  He  was  so  sorry  for  the 
Princess  Goldenhair,  and  so  glad  for  himself.  Now  he  could 
find  his  way  to  the  pool  with  the  red  berries,  and  he  could 
bathe  his  feet  in  it  until  they  were  large  enough  to  satisfy 
Stumpinghame  ;  and  he  could  go  back  to  his  father's  court, 
and  his  parents  would  perhaps  be  fond  of  him.  But  he  had 
so  good  a  heart  that  he  could  not  think  of  being  happy  him- 
self and  letting  others  remain  unhappy,  when  he  could  help 
them.  So  the  first  thing  was  to  find  the  Princess  Golden- 
hair  and  tell  her  about  the  nightingales'  fountain.      But  how 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  93 

was  he  to  find  her  ?  The  nightingales  had  not  told  him. 
He  was  very  much  troubled,  indeed.  How  was  he  to  find 
her? 

Suddenly,  quite  suddenly,  he  thought  of  the  ring  Gauzita 
had  given  him.  When  she  had  given  it  to  him  she  had  made 
an  odd  remark. 

"  When  you  wish  to  go  anywhere,"  she  had  said,  "  hold  it 
in  your  hand,  turn  around  twice  with  closed  eyes,  and  some- 
thing queer  will  happen." 

He  had  thought  it  was  one  of  her  little  jokes,  but  now  it 
occurred  to  him  that  at  least  he  might  try  what  would  happen. 
So  he  rose  up,  held  the  ring  in  his  hand,  closed  his  eyes,  and 
turned  around  twice. 

What  did  happen  was  that  he  began  to  walk,  not  very  fast, 
but  still  passing  along  as  if  he  were  moving  rapidly.  He  did 
not  know  where  he  was  going,  but  he  guessed  that  the  ring 
did,  and  that  if  he  obeyed  it,  he  should  find  the  Princess 
Goldenhair.  He  went  on  and  on,  not  getting  in  the  least 
tired,  until  about  daylight  he  found  himself  under  a  great 
tree,  and  on  the  ground  beneath  it  was  spread  a  delightful 
breakfast,  which  he  knew  was  for  him.  He  sat  down  and  ate 
it,  and  then  got  up  again  and  went  on  his  way  once  more. 
Before  noon  he  had  left  the  forest  behind  him,  and  was  in  a 
strange  country.  He  knew  it  was  not  Stumpinghame,  because 
the  people  had  not  large  feet.  But  they  all  had  sad  faces, 
and  once  or  twice,  when  he  passed  groups  of  them  who  were 
talking,  he  heard  them  speak  of  the  Princess  Goldenhair,  as 


94  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 

if  they  were  sorry  for  her  and  could  not  enjoy  themselves 
while  such  a  misfortune  rested  upon  her. 

"  So  sweet  and  lovely  and  kind  a  princess !  "  they  said  ; 
"and  it  really  seems  as  if  she  would  never  be  any  better." 

The  sun  was  just  setting  when  Fairyfoot  came  in  sight  of 
the  palace.  It  was  built  of  white  marble,  and  had  beautiful 
pleasure-grounds  about  it,  but  somehow  there  seemed  to  be  a 
settled  gloom  in  the  air.  Fairyfoot  had  entered  the  great 
pleasure-garden,  and  was  wondering  where  it  would  be  best 
to  go  first,  when  he  saw  a  lovely  white  fawn,  with  a  golden 
collar  about  its  neck,  come  bounding  over  the  flower-beds, 
and  he  heard,  at  a  little  distance,  a  sweet  voice,  saying,  sor- 
rowfully, "  Come  back,  my  fawn  ;  I  cannot  run  and  play  with 
you  as  I  once  used  to.      Do  not  leave  me,  my  little  friend." 

And  soon  from  behind  the  trees  came  a  line  of  beautiful 
girls,  walking  two  by  two,  all  very  slowly  ;  and  at  the  head  of 
the  line,  first  of  all,  came  the  loveliest  princess  in  the  world, 
dressed  softly  in  pure  white,  with  a  wreath  of  lilies  on  her  long 
golden  hair,  which  fell  almost  to  the  hem  of  her  white  gown. 

She  had  so  fair  and  tender  a  young  face,  and  her  large, 
soft  eyes,  yet  looked  so  sorrowful,  that  Fairyfoot  loved  her  in 
a  moment,  and  he  knelt  on  one  knee,  taking  off  his  cap  and 
bending  his  head  until  his  own  golden  hair  almost  hid  his  face. 

"  Beautiful  Princess  Goldenhair,  beautiful  and  sweet  Prin- 
cess, may  I  speak  to  you  ?"  he  said. 

The  Princess  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  and  answered 
him  softly.      It  surprised  her  to  see  one  so  poorly  dressed 


FAIRYFOOT    LOVED    HER   IN   A   MOMENT,    AND    HE   KNELT    ON   ONE   KNEE. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  97 

kneeling  before  her,  in  her  palace  gardens,  among  the  brilliant 
flowers  ;  but  she  always  spoke  softly  to  everyone. 

"  What  is  there  that  I  can  do  for  you,  my  friend  ?"  she  said. 

"  Beautiful  Princess,"  answered  Fairyfoot,  blushing,  "  I 
hope  very  much  that  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  you." 

"  For  me  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Thank  you,  friend  ;  what  is 
it  you  can  do  ?  Indeed,  I  need  a  help  I  am  afraid  no  one  can 
ever  give  me." 

"  Gracious  and  fairest  lady,"  said  Fairyfoot,  "  it  is  that  help 
I  think — nay,  I  am  sure^that  I  bring  to  you." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  sweet  Princess.  "  You  have  a  kind  face 
and  most  true  eyes,  and  when  I  look  at  you — I  do  not  know 
why  it  is,  but  I  feel  a  little  happier.  What  is  it  you  would 
say  to  me  ? " 

Still  kneeling  before  her,  still  bending  his  head  modestly, 
and  still  blushing,  Fairyfoot  told  his  story.  He  told  her  of 
his  own  sadness  and  loneliness,  and  of  why  he  was  considered 
so  terrible  a  disgrace  to  his  family.  He  told  her  about  the 
fountain  of  the  nightingales  and  what  he  had  heard  there  and 
how  he  had  journeyed  through  the  forests,  and  beyond  it  into 
her  own  country,  to  find  her.  And  while  he  told  it,  her 
beautiful  face  changed  from  red  to  white,  and  her  hands 
closely  clasped  themselves  together. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  said,  when  he  had  finished,  "  I  know  that  this 
is  true  from  the  kind  look  in  your  eyes,  and  I  shall  be  happy 
again.  And  how  can  I  thank  you  for  being  so  good  to  a  poor 
little  princess  whom  you  had  never  seen  ?" 

7 


98  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 

"  Only  let  me  see  you  happy  once  more,  most  sweet  Prin- 
cess," answered  Fairyfoot,  ''and  that  will  be  all  I  desire — 
only  if,  perhaps,  I  might  once — kiss  your  hand." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  so  lovely  a  look  in  her 
soft  eyes  that  he  felt  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  before, 
even  at  the  fairy  dances.  This  was  a  different  kind  of  happi- 
ness. Her  hand  was  as  white  as  a  dove's  wing  and  as  soft  as 
a  dove's  breast.  "  Come,"  she  said,  "let  us  go  at  once  to  the 
King." 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  whole  palace  was  in  an  uproar 
of  excitement.  Preparations  were  made  to  go  to  the  fountain 
of  the  nightingales  immediately.  Remembering  what  the 
birds  had  said  about  not  wishing  to  be  disturbed,  Fairyfoot 
asked  the  King  to  take  only  a  small  party.  So  no  one  was 
to  go  but  the  King  himself,  the  Princess,  in  a  covered  chair 
carried  by  two  bearers,  the  Lord  High  Chamberlain,  two 
Maids  of  Honour,  and  Fairyfoot. 

Before  morning  they  were  on  their  way,  and  the  day  after 
they  reached  the  thicket  of  roses,  and  Fairyfoot  pushed  aside 
the  branches  and  led  the  way  into  the  dell. 

The  Princess  Goldenhair  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the 
pool  and  put  her  feet  into  it.  In  two  minutes  they  began  to 
look  smaller.  She  bathed  them  once,  twice,  three  times,  and, 
as  the  nightingales  had  said,  they  became  smaller  and  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  As  for  the  Princess  herself,  she  really 
could  not  be  more  beautiful  than  she  had  been  ;  but  the  Lord 
High  Chamberlain,  who   had  been   an   exceedingly  ugly  old 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT  99 

gentleman,  after  washing  his  face,  became  so  young  and  hand- 
some that  the  First  Maid  of  Honour  immediately  fell  in  love 
with  him.  Whereupon  she  washed  her  face,  and  became  so 
beautiful  that  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  they  were  engaged 
upon  the  spot. 

The  Princess  could  not  find  any  words  to  tell  Fairyfoot 
how  grateful  she  was  and  how  happy.  She  could  only  look 
at  him  again  and  again  with  her  soft,  radiant  eyes,  and  again 
and  again  give  him  her  hand  that  he  might  kiss  it. 

She  was  so  sweet  and  gentle  that  Fairyfoot  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  leaving  her  ;  and  when  the  King  begged  him 
to  return  to  the  palace  with  them  and  live  there  always,  he 
was  more  glad  than  I  can  tell  you.  To  be  near  this  lovely 
Princess,  to  be  her  friend,  to  love  and  serve  her  and  look  at 
her  every  day,  was  such  happiness  that  he  wranted  nothing 
more.  But  first  he  wished  to  visit  his  father  and  mother 
and  sisters  and  brothers  in  Stumpinghame  !  so  the  King  and 
Princess  and  their  attendants  went  with  him  to  the  pool 
where  the  red  berries  grew  ;  and  after  he  had  bathed  his  feet 
in  the  water  they  were  so  large  that  Stumpinghame  contained 
nothing  like  them,  even  the  King's  and  Queen's  seeming 
small  in  comparison.  And  when,  a  few  days  later,  he  arrived 
at  the  Stumpinghame  Palace,  attended  in  great  state  by  the 
magnificent  retinue  with  which  the  father  of  the  Princess 
Goldenhair  had  provided  him,  he  was  received  with  unbounded 
rapture  by  his  parents.  The  King  and  Queen  felt  that  to 
have  a  son  with  feet  of  such  a  size  was  something  to  be  proud 


ioo  THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  FAIRYFOOT 


of,  indeed.  They  could  not  admire  him  sufficiently,  although 
the  whole  country  was  illuminated,  and  feasting  continued 
throughout  his  visit. 

But  though  he  was  glad  to  be  no  more  a  disgrace  to  his 
family,  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  enjoyed  the  size  of  his  feet 
very  much  on  his  own  account.  Indeed,  he  much  preferred 
being  Prince  Fairyfoot,  as  fleet  as  the  wind  and  as  light  as  a 
young  deer,  and  he  was  quite  glad  to  go  to  the  fountain  of 
the  nightingales  after  his  visit  was  at  an  end,  and  bathe  his 
feet  small  again,  and  to  return  to  the  palace  of  the  Princess 
Goldenhair  with  the  soft  and  tender  eyes.  There  everyone 
loved  him,  and  he  loved  everyone,  and  was  four  times  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long. 

He  loved  the  Princess  more  dearly  every  day,  and,  of  course, 
as  soon  as  they  were  old  enough,  they  were  married.  And  of 
course,  too,  they  used  to  go  in  the  summer  to  the  forest,  and 
dance  in  the  moonlight  with  the  fairies,  who  adored  them  both. 

When  they  went  to  visit  Stumpinghame,  they  always  bathed 
their  feet  in  the  pool  of  the  red  berries  ;  and  when  they  returned, 
they  made  them  small  again  in  the  fountain  of  the  nightingales. 

They  were  always  great  friends  with  Robin  Goodfellow, 
and  he  was  always  very  confidential  with  them  about  Gauzita, 
who  continued  to  be  as  pretty  and  saucy  as  ever.   . 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  he  used  to  say,  severely,  "  I'll  marry 
another  fairy,  and  see  how  she'll  like  that — to  see  someone 
else  basking  in  my  society  !    I'll  get  even  with  her  !  " 

But  he  never  did. 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF 
WHEAT. 


THE   PROUD   LITTLE   GRAIN   OF 
WHEAT. 

THERE  once  was  a  little  grain  of  wheat  which  was  very- 
proud  indeed.  The  first  thing  it  remembered  was  be- 
ing very  much  crowded  and  jostled  by  a  great  many 
other  grains  of  wheat,  all  living  in  the  same  sack  in  the 
granary.  It  was  quite  dark  in  the  sack,  and  no  one  could 
move  about,  and  so  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
sit  still  and  talk  and  think.  The  proud  little  grain  of  wheat 
talked  a  great  deal,  but  did  not  think  quite  so  much,  while 
its  next  neighbour  thought  a  great  deal  and  only  talked  when 
it  was  asked  questions  it  could  answer.  It  used  to  say  that 
when  it  thought  a  great  deal  it  could  remember  things  which 
it  seemed  to  have  heard  a  long  time  ago. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  our  staying  here  so  long  doing 
nothing,  and  never  being  seen  by  anybody?"  the  proud  little 
grain  once  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  learned  grain  replied.  "  I  don't 
know  the  answer  to  that.     Ask  me  another." 

"  Why  can't  I  sing  like  the  birds  that  build  their  nests  in 
the  roof  ?  I  should  like  to  sing,  instead  of  sitting  here  in  the 
dark." 

"  Because  you  have  no  voice,"  said  the  learned  grain. 


104  THE  PROUD   LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT 

This  was  a  very  good  answer  indeed. 

"  Why  didn't  someone  give  me  a  voice,  then — why 
didn't  they  ? "  said  the  proud  little  grain,  getting  very 
cross. 

The  learned  grain  thought  for  several  minutes. 

"  There  might  be  two  answers  to  that,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  One  might  be  that  nobody  had  a  voice  to  spare,  and  the 
other  might  be  that  you  have  nowhere  to  put  one  if  it  were 
given  to  you." 

"  Everybody  is  better  off  than  I  am,"  said  the  proud  little 
grain.  "  The  birds  can  fly  and  sing,  the  children  can  play 
and  shout.  I  am  sure  I  can  get  no  rest  for  their  shouting 
and  playing.  There  are  two  little  boys  who  make  enough 
noise  to  deafen  the  whole  sackful  of  us." 

"  Ah  !  I  know  them,"  said  the  learned  grain.  "  And  it's 
true  they  are  noisy.  Their  names  are  Lionel  and  Vivian. 
There  is  a  thin  place  in  the  side  of  the  sack,  through  which  I 
can  see  them.  I  would  rather  stay  where  I  am  than  have  to 
do  all  they  do.  They  have  long  yellow  hair,  and  when  they 
stand  on  their  heads  the  straw  sticks  in  it  and  they  look  very 
curious.  I  heard  a  strange  thing  through  listening  to  them 
the  other  day." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  asked  the  proud  grain. 

"  They  were  playing  in  the  straw,  and  someone  came  in  to 
them — it  was  a  lady  who  had  brought  them  something  on  a 
plate.  They  began  to  dance  and  shout :  '  It's  cake  !  It's  cake  ! 
Nice   little   mamma   for  bringing  us  cake.'     And  then  they 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT  105 

each  sat  down  with  a  piece  and  began  to  take  great  bites  out 
of  it.      I  shuddered  to  think  of  it  afterward." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,  you  know  they  are  always  asking  questions,  and 
they  began  to  ask  questions  of  their  mamma,  who  lay  down 
in  the  straw  near  them.  She  seemed  to  be  used  to  it.  These 
are  the  questions  Vivian  asked  : 

"  '  Who  made  the  cake  ?' 

"  '  The  cook.' 

"  '  Who  made  the  cook  ?' 

"'God.' 

"  '  What  did  He  make  her  for?' 

"  '  Why  didn't  He  make  her  white  ? ' 

"  '  Why  didn't  He  make  you  black  ? ' 

"  '  Did  He  cut  a  hole  in  heaven  and  drop  me  through  when 
He  made  me  ?' 

"  '  Why  didn't  it  hurt  me  when  I  tumbled  such  a  long 
way  ?  ' 

"  She  said  she  '  didn't  know  '  to  all  but  the  two  first,  and 
then  he  asked  two  more. 

"  '  What  is  the  cake  made  of  ?' 

"  '  Flour,  sugar,  eggs  and  butter.' 

"  '  What  is  flour  made  of  ? ' 

"  It  was  the  answer  to  that  which  made  me  shudder." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  the  proud  grain. 

"  She  said  it  was  made  of — wheat !  I  don't  see  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  rich " 


106  THE  PROUD   LITTLE  GRAIN  OF    WHEAT. 

"  Was  the  cake  rich  ? "  asked  the  proud  grain. 

"  Their  mother  said  it  was.  She  said,  '  Don't  eat  it  so  fast 
— it  is  very  rich.'  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  proud  grain.  "  I  should  like  to  be  rich. 
It  must  be  very  fine  to  be  rich.  If  I  am  ever  made  into 
cake,  I  mean  to  be  so  rich  that  no  one  will  dare  to  eat  me  at 
all." 

"  Ah  ? "  said  the  learned  grain.  "  I  don't  think  those  boys 
would  be  afraid  to  eat  you,  however  rich  you  were.  They 
are  not  afraid  of  richness." 

"They'd  be  afraid  of  me  before  they  had  done  with  me," 
said  the  proud  grain.  "  I  am  not  a  common  grain  of  wheat. 
Wait  until  I  am  made  into  cake.  But  gracious  me  !  there 
doesn't  seem  much  prospect  of  it  while  we  are  shut  up  here. 
How  dark  and  stuffy  it  is,  and  how  we  are  crowded,  and 
what  a  stupid  lot  the  other  grains  are  !  I'm  tired  of  it,  I  must 
say. 

"  We  are  all  in  the  same  sack,"  said  the  learned  grain,  very 
quietly. 

It  was  a  good  many  days  after  that,  that  something  hap- 
pened. Quite  early  in  the  morning,  a  man  and  a  boy  came 
into  the  granary,  and  moved  the  sack  of  wheat  from  its  place, 
wakening  all  the  grains  from  their  last  nap. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  the  proud  grain.  "Who  is 
daring  to  disturb  us  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  the  learned  grain,  in  the  most  solemn 
manner.      "  Something  is  going  to  happen.     Something  like 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF    WHEAT.  107 

this  happened  to  somebody  belonging  to  me  long  ago.  I  seem 
to  remember  it  when  I  think  very  hard.  I  seem  to  remember 
something  about  one  of  my  family  being  sown." 

"  What  is  sown  ?  "  demanded  the  other  grain. 

"It  is  being  thrown  into  the  earth,"  began  the  learned 
grain. 

Oh,  what  a  passion  the  proud  grain  got  into  !  "  Into  the 
earth?"  she  shrieked  out.  "  Into  the  common  earth  ?  The 
earth  is  nothing  but  dirt,  and  I  am  not  a  common  grain  of 
wheat.  I  won't  be  sown  !  I  will  not  be  sown  !  How  dare 
anyone  sow  me  against  my  will  !  I  would  rather  stay  in  the 
sack." 

But  just  as  she  was  saying  it,  she  was  thrown  out  with  the 
learned  grain  and  some  others  into  another  dark  place,  and 
carried  off  by  the  farmer,  in  spite  of  her  temper  ;  for  the 
farmer  could  not  hear  her  voice  at  all,  and  wouldn't  have 
minded  if  he  had,  because  he  knew  she  was  only  a  grain  of 
wheat,  and  ought  to  be  sown,  so  that  some  good  might  come 
of  her. 

Well,  she  was  carried  out  to  a  large  field  in  the  pouch 
which  the  farmer  wore  at  his  belt.  The  field  had  been 
ploughed,  and  there  was  a  sweet  smell  of  fresh  earth  in  the 
air  ;  the  sky  was  a  deep,  deep  blue,  but  the  air  was  cool  and 
the  few  leaves  on  the  trees  were  brown  and  dry,  and  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  left  over  from  last  year. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  learned  grain.  "  It  was  just  such  a  day 
as  this  when  my  grandfather,  or  my  father,  or  somebody  else 


108  THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT. 

related  to  me,  was  sown.  I  think  I  remember  that  it  was 
called  Early  Spring." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  the  proud  grain,  fiercely,  "  I  should  like 
to  see  the  man  who  would  dare  to  sow  me  ! " 

At  that  very  moment,  the  farmer  put  his  big,  brown  hand 
into  the  bag  and  threw  her,  as  she  thought,  at  least  half  a 
mile  from  them. 

He  had  not  thrown  her  so  far  as  that,  however,  and  she 
landed  safely  in  the  shadow  of  a  clod  of  rich  earth,  which  the 
sun  had  warmed  through  and  through.  She  was  quite  out  of 
breath  and  very  dizzy  at  first,  but  in  a  few  seconds  she  began 
to  feel  better  and  could  not  help  looking  around,  in  spite  of 
her  anger,  to  see  if  there  was  anyone  near  to  talk  to.  But 
she  saw  no  one,  and  so  began  to  scold  as  usual. 

"  They  not  only  sow  me,"  she  called  out,  "but  they  throw 
me  all  by  myself,  where  I  can  have  no  company  at  all.  It  is 
disgraceful." 

Then  she  heard  a  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  clod.  It 
was  the  learned  grain,  who  had  fallen  there  when  the  farmer 
threw  her  out  of  his  pouch. 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  it  said,  "  I  am  here.  We  are  all  right 
so  far.  Perhaps,  when  they  cover  us  with  the  earth,  we  shall 
be  even  nearer  to  each  other  than  we  are  now." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  they  will  cover  us  with  the  earth  ?" 
asked  the  proud  grain. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "  And  there  we  shall  lie  in 
the  dark,   and    the    rain  will    moisten    us,   and    the  sun    will 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRALN  OF   WHEAT  109 

warm  us,  until  we  grow  larger  and  larger,  and  at  last  burst 
open  ! 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  said  the  proud  grain  ;  "  I  shall  do 
no  such  thine  ! " 

But  it  all  happened  just  as  the  learned  grain  had  said, 
which  showed  what  a  wise  grain  it  was,  and  how  much  it  had 
found  out  just  by  thinking  hard  and  remembering  all  it  could. 

Before  the  day  was  over,  they  were  covered  snugly  up 
with  the  soft,  fragrant,  brown  earth,  and  there  they  lay  day 
after  day. 

One  morning,  when  the  proud  grain  wakened,  it  found 
itself  wet  through  and  through  with  rain  which  had  fallen  in 
the  night,  and  the  next  day  the  sun  shone  down  and  warmed 
it  so  that  it  really  began  to  be  afraid  that  it  would  be  obliged 
to  grow  too  large  for  its  skin,  which  felt  a  little  tight  for  it 
already. 

It  said  nothing  of  this  to  the  learned  grain,  at  first,  because 
it  was  determined  not  to  burst  if  it  could  help  it ;  but  after 
the  same  thing  had  happened  a  great  many  times,  it  found, 
one  morning,  that  it  really  was  swelling,  and  it  felt  obliged  to 
tell  the  learned  grain  about  it. 

"Well,"  it  said,  pettishly,  "  I  suppose  you  will  be  glad  to 
hear  that  you  were  right.  I  am  going  to  burst.  My  skin  is 
so  tight  now  that  it  doesn't  fit  me  at  all,  and  I  know  I  can't 
stand  another  warm  shower  like  the  last." 

"Oh!"  said  the  learned  grain,  in  a  quiet  way  (really 
learned  people  always  have  a  quiet  way),   "  I   knew   I  was 


no  THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRALN  OF    WHEAT 

right,  or  I  shouldn't  have  said  so.  I  hope  you  don't  find  it 
very  uncomfortable.  I  think  I  myself  shall  burst  by  to- 
morrow." 

"  Of  course  I  find  it  uncomfortable,"  said  the  proud  grain. 
"  Who  wouldn't  find  it  uncomfortable,  to  be  two  or  three 
sizes  too  small  for  one's  self  !  Pouf  !  Crack  !  There  I  go  ! 
I  have  split  up  all  up  my  right  side,  and  I  must  say  it's  a 
relief." 

"  Crack  !  Pouf  !  so  have  I,"  said  the  learned  grain.  "  Now 
we  must  begin  to  push  up  through  the  earth.  I  am  sure  my 
relation  did  that." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  mind  getting  out  into  the  air.  It 
would  be  a  change  at  least." 

So  each  of  them  began  to  push  her  way  through  the  earth 
as  strongly  as  she  could,  and,  sure  enough,  it  was  not  long 
before  the  proud  grain  actually  found  herself  out  in  the  world 
again,  breathing  the  sweet  air,  under  the  blue  sky,  across 
which  fleecy  white  clouds  were  drifting,  and  swift-winged, 
happy  birds  darting. 

"  It  really  is  a  lovely  day,"  were  the  first  words  the  proud 
grain  said.  It  couldn't  help  it.  The  sunshine  was  so  delight- 
ful, and  the  birds  chirped  and  twittered  so  merrily  in  the 
bare  branches,  and,  more  wonderful  than  all,  the  great  field 
was  brown  no  longer,  but  was  covered  with  millions  of  little, 
fresh  green  blades,  which  trembled  and  bent  their  frail  bodies 
before  the  light  wind. 

"  This  is  an  improvement,"  said  the  proud  grain. 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF    WHEAT.  m 

Then  there  was  a  little  stir  in  the  earth  beside  it,  and  up 
through  the  brown  mould  came  the  learned  grain,  fresh, 
bright,  green,  like  the  rest. 

"  I  told  you  I  was  not  a  common  grain  of  wheat,"  said  the 
proud  one. 

"  You  are  not  a  grain  of  wheat  at  all  now,"  said  the  learned 
one,  modestly.  "  You  are  a  blade  of  wheat,  and  there  are  a 
great  many  others  like  you." 

"  See  how  green  I  am  !"  said  the  proud  blade. 

"Yes,  you  are  very  green,"  said  its  companion.  "You 
will  not  be  so  green  when  you  are  older." 

The  proud  grain,  which  must  be  called  a  blade  now,  had 
plenty  of  change  and  company  after  this.  It  grew  taller  and 
taller  every  day,  and  made  a  great  many  new  acquaintances 
as  the  weather  grew  warmer.  These  were  little  gold  and 
green  beetles  living  near  it,  who  often  passed  it,  and  now 
and  then  stopped  to  talk  a  little  about  their  children  and  their 
journeys  under  the  soil.  Birds  dropped  down  from  the  sky 
sometimes  to  gossip  and  twitter  of  the  nests  they  were  build- 
ing in  the  apple-trees,  and  the  new  songs  they  were  learning 
to  sing. 

Once,  on  a  very  warm  day,  a  great  golden  butterfly,  float- 
ing by  on  his  large  lovely  wings,  fluttered  down  softly  and  lit 
on  the  proud  blade,  who  felt  so  much  prouder  when  he  did  it 
that  she  trembled  for  joy. 

"  He  admires  me  more  than  all  the  rest  in  the  field,  you 
see,"  it  said,  haughtily.      "That  is  because  I  am  so  green." 


ii2  THE  PROUD  LITTLE   GRAIN  OF   WHEAT 

"  If  I  were  you,"  said  the  learned  blade,  in  its  modest 
way,  "  I  believe  I  would  not  talk  so  much  about  being  green. 
People  will  make  such  ill-natured  remarks  when  one  speaks 
often  of  one's  self." 

"  I  am  above  such  people,"  said  the  proud  blade  ;  "  I  can 
find  nothing  more  interesting  to  talk  of  than  myself." 

As  time  went  on,  it  was  delighted  to  find  that  it  grew 
taller  than  any  other  blade  in  the  field,  and  threw  out  other 
blades  ;  and  at  last  there  grew  out  at  the  top  of  its  stalk  ever 
so  many  plump,  new  little  grains,  all  fitting  closely  together, 
and  wearing  tight  little  green  covers. 

"  Look  at  me  ! "  it  said  then.  "  I  am  the  queen  of  all  the 
wheat.      I  have  a  crown." 

"  No,"  said  its  learned  companion.  "  You  are  now  an  ear 
of  wheat." 

And  in  a  short  time  all  the  other  stalks  wore  the  same 
kind  of  crown,  and  it  found  out  that  the  learned  blade  was 
right,  and  that  it  was  only  an  ear,  after  all. 

And  now  the  weather  had  grown  still  warmer  and  the  trees 
were  covered  with  leaves,  and  the  birds  sang  and  built  their 
nests  in  them  and  laid  their  little  blue  eggs,  and  in  time, 
wonderful  to  relate,  there  came  baby  birds,  that  were  always 
opening  their  mouths  for  food,  and  crying  "  peep,  peep,"  to 
their  fathers  and  mothers.  There  were  more  butterflies 
floating  about  on  their  amber  and  purple  wings,  and  the  gold 
and  green  beetles  were  so  busy  they  had  no  time  to  talk. 

"Well!"  said  the  proud  ear  of  wheat  (you  remember  it 


THE  PROUD   LITTLE  GRAIN  OF    WHEAT.  113 

was  an  ear  by  this  time)  to  its  companion  one  day.  "  You  see, 
you  were  right  again.  I  am  not  so  green  as  I  was.  I  am 
turning  yellow — but  yellow  is  the  colour  of  gold,  and  I  don't 
object  to  looking  like  gold." 

"  You  will  soon  be  ripe,"  said  its  friend. 

"  And  what  will  happen  then  ?" 

"  The  reaping-machine  will  come  and  cut  you  down,  and 
other  strange  things  will  happen." 

"  There  I  make  a  stand,"  said  the  proud  ear,  "  I  will  not  be 
cut  down." 

But  it  was  just  as  the  wise  ear  said  it  would  be.  Not  long 
after  a  reaping-machine  was  brought  and  driven  back  and 
forth  in  the  fields,  and  down  went  all  the  wheat  ears  before 
the  great  knives.  But  it  did  not  hurt  the  wheat,  of  course, 
and  only  the  proud  ear  felt  angry. 

"I  am  the  colour  of  gold,"  it  said,  "and  yet  they  have 
dared  to  cut  me  down.      What  will  they  do  next,  I  wonder?" 

What  they  did  next  was  to  bunch  it  up  with  other  wheat 
and  tie  it  and  stack  it  together,  and  then  it  was  carried  in  a 
wagon  and  laid  in  the  barn. 

Then  there  was  a  great  bustle  after  a  while.  The  farmer's 
wife  and  daughters  and  her  two  servants  began  to  work  as 
hard  as  they  could. 

"  The  threshers  are  coming,"  they  said,  "  and  we  must  make 
plenty  of  things  for  them  to  eat." 

So  they  made  pies  and  cakes  and  bread  until  their  cupboards 
were  full ;  and  surely  enough  the  threshers  did  come  with  the 


ii4  THE  PROUD   LITTLE  GRAIN  OF    WHEAT. 

threshing-machine,  which  was  painted  red,  and  went  "  Puff  ! 
puff  !  puff !  rattle  !  rattle  ! "  all  the  time.  And  the  proud 
wheat  was  threshed  out  by  it,  and  found  itself  in  grains  again 
and  very  much  out  of  breath. 

"  I  look  almost  as  I  was  at  first,"  it  said  ;  "  only  there  are 
so  many  of  me.  I  am  grander  than  ever  now.  I  was  only 
one  grain  of  wheat  at  first,  and  now  I  am  at  least  fifty." 

When  it  was  put  into  a  sack,  it  managed  to  get  all  its 
grains  together  in  one  place,  so  that  it  might  feel  as  grand  as 
possible.  It  was  so  proud  that  it  felt  grand,  however  much 
it  was  knocked  about. 

It  did  not  lie  in  the  sack  very  long  this  time  before  some- 
thing else  happened.  One  morning  it  heard  the  farmer's  wife 
saying  to  the  coloured  boy: 

"  Take  this  yere  sack  of  wheat  to  the  mill,  Jerry.  I  want 
to  try  it  when  I  make  that  thar  cake  for  the  boarders.  Them 
two  children  from  Washington  city  are  powerful  hands  for 
cake." 

So  Jerry  lifted  the  sack  up  and  threw  it  over  his  shoulder, 
and  carried  it  out  into  the  spring-waggon. 

"  Now  we  are  going  to  travel,"  said  the  proud  wheat. 
"  Don't  let  us  be  separated." 

At  that  minute,  there  were  heard  two  young  voices, 
shouting  : — 

"  Jerry,  take  us  in  the  waggon  !  Let  us  go  to  mill,  Jerry. 
We  want  to  go  to  mill." 

And  these  were  the  very  two  boys  who  had  played  in  the 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT  115 

granary  and  made  so  much  noise  the  summer  before.  They 
had  grown  a  little  bigger,  and  their  yellow  hair  was  longer, 
but  they  looked  just  as  they  used  to,  with  their  strong  little 
legs  and  big  brown  eyes,  and  their  sailor  hats  set  so  far  back 
on  their  heads  that  it  was  a  wonder  they  stayed  on.  And 
gracious  !   how  they  shouted  and  ran. 

"  What  does  yer  mar  say  ?"  asked  Jerry. 

"  Says  we  can  go  ! "  shouted  both  at  once,  as  if  Jerry  had 
been  deaf,  which  he  wasn't  at  all — quite  the  contrary. 

So  Jerry,  who  was  very  good-natured,  lifted  them  in,  and 
cracked  his  whip,  and  the  horses  started  off.  It  was  a  long 
ride  to  the  mill,  but  Lionel  and  Vivian  were  not  too  tired  to 
shout  again  when  they  reached  it.  They  shouted  at  sight 
of  the  creek  and  the  big  wheel  turning  round  and  round 
slowly,  with  the  water  dashing  and  pouring  and  foaming 
over  it. 

"  What  turns  the  wheel  ?"  asked  Vivian. 

"  The  water,  honey,"  said  Jerry. 

"  What  turns  the  water  ?  " 

"  Well  now,  honey,"  said  Jerry,  "  you  hev  me  thar.  I  don't 
know  nuffin  'bout  it.  Lors-a-massy,  what  a  boy  you  is  fur 
axin  dif'cult  questions." 

Then  he  carried  the  sack  in  to  the  miller,  and  said  he  would 
wait  until  the  wheat  was  ground. 

"  Ground  ! "  said  the  proud  wheat.  "  We  are  going  to  be 
ground.      I  hope  it  is  agreeable.      Let  us  keep  close  together." 

They  did  keep  close  together,  but  it  wasn't  very  agreeable 


n6  THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT 

to  be  poured  into  a  hopper  and  then  crushed  into  fine  powder 
between  two  big  stones. 

"  Makes  nice  flour,"  said  the  miller,  rubbing  it  between  his 
fingers. 

"  Flour  !  "  said  the  wheat — which  was  wheat  no  loneer. 
"  Now  I  am  flour,  and  I  am  finer  than  ever.  How  white  I 
am  !  I  really  would  rather  be  white  than  green  or  gold  colour. 
I  wonder  where  the  learned  grain  is,  and  if  it  is  as  fine  and 
white  as  I  am  ?  " 

But  the  learned  grain  and  her  family  had  been  laid  away 
in  the  granary  for  seed  wheat. 

Before  the  waggon  reached  the  house  again,  the  two  boys 
were  fast  asleep  in  the  bottom  of  it,  and  had  to  be  helped  out 
just  as  the  sack  was,  and  carried  in. 

The  sack  was  taken  into  the  kitchen  at  once  and  opened, 
and  even  in  its  wheat  days  the  flour  had  never  been  so  proud 
as  it  was  when  it  heard  the  farmer's  wife  say — 

"  I'm  going  to  make  this  into  cake." 

"  Ah  !  "  it  said  ;  "  I  thought  so.  Now  I  shall  be  rich,  and 
admired  by  everybody." 

The  farmer's  wife  then  took  some  of  it  out  in  a  large  white 
bowl,  and  after  that  she  busied  herself  beating  eggs  and  sugar 
and  butter  all  together  in  another  bowl  :  and  after  a  while  she 
took  the  flour  and  beat  it  in  also. 

"  Now  I  am  in  grand  company,"  said  the  flour.  "  The  eggs 
and  butter  are  the  colour  of  gold,  the  sugar  is  like  silver  or 
diamonds.     This  is  the  very  society  for  me." 


THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF    WHEAT.  117 

"  The  cake  looks  rich,"  said  one  of  the  daughters. 

"  It's  rather  too  rich  for  them  children,"  said  her  mother. 
"  But  Lawsey,  I  dunno,  neither.  Nothin'  don't  hurt  'em.  I 
reckon  they  could  eat  a  panel  of  rail  fence  and  come  to  no 
harm." 

"  I'm  rich,"  said  the  flour  to  itself.  "  That  is  just  what  I 
intended  from  the  first.      I  am  rich  and  I  am  a  cake." 

Just  then,  a  pair  of  big  brown  eyes  came  and  peeped  into 
it.  They  belonged  to  a  round  little  head  with  a  mass  of 
tangled  curls  all  over  it — they  belonged  to  Vivian. 

"  What's  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Cake." 

"  Who  made  it  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  I  like  you,"  said  Vivian.  "  You're  such  a  nice  woman. 
Who's  going  to  eat  any  of  it  ?     Is  Lionel  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  too  rich  for  boys,"  said  the  woman,  but  she 
laughed  and  kissed  him. 

"  No,"  said  Vivian.      "  I'm  afraid  it  isn't." 

"  I  shall  be  much  too  rich,"  said  the  cake,  angrily.  "  Boys, 
indeed.      I  was  made  for  something  better  than  boys." 

After  that,  it  was  poured  into  a  cake-mould,  and  put  into 
the  oven,  where  it  had  rather  an  unpleasant  time  of  it.  It 
was  so  hot  in  there  that  if  the  farmer's  wife  had  not  watched 
it  carefully,  it  would  have  been  burned. 

"  But  I  am  cake,"  it  said,  "and  of  the  richest  kind,  so  I 
can  bear  it,  even  if  it  is  uncomfortable." 


n8  THE  PROUD  LITTLE   GRAIN  OF    WHEAT. 

When  it  was  taken  out,  it  really  was  cake,  and  it  felt  as  if 
it  was  quite  satisfied.  Everyone  who  came  into  the  kitchen 
and  saw  it,  said — 

"Oh,  what  a  nice  cake!  How  well  your  new  flour  has 
done  !  " 

But  just  once,  while  it  was  cooling,  it  had  a  curious,  dis- 
agreeable feeling.  It  found,  all  at  once,  that  the  two 
boys,  Lionel  and  Vivian,  had  come  quietly  into  the  kitchen 
and  stood  near  the  table,  looking  at  the  cake  with  their 
great  eyes  wide  open  and  their  little  red  mouths  open, 
too. 

"  Dear  me,"  it  said.  "  How  nervous  I  feel — actually 
nervous.  What  great  eyes  they  have,  and  how  they  shine  ! 
and  what  are  those  sharp  white  things  in  their  mouths  ?  I 
really  don't  like  them  to  look  at  me  in  that  way.  It  seems 
like  something  personal.  I  wish  the  farmer's  wife  would 
come." 

Such  a  chill  ran  over  it,  that  it  was  quite  cool  when  the 
woman  came  in,  and  she  put  it  away  in  the  cupboard  on  a 
plate. 

But,  that  very  afternoon,  she  took  it  out  again  and  set  it 
on  the  table  on  a  glass  cake-stand.  She  put  some  leaves 
around  it  to  make  it  look  nice,  and  it  noticed  there  were 
a  great  many  other  things  on  the  table,  and  they  all  looked 
fresh  and  bright. 

"  This  is  all  in  my  honour,"  it  said.  "  They  know  I  am 
rich." 


there's  the  cake,"  he  said. 


THE  PROUD   LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT  121 

Then  several  people  came  in  and  took  chairs  around  the 
table. 

"  They  all  come  to  sit  and  look  at  me,"  said  the  vain  cake. 
"  I  wish  the  learned  orain  could  see  me  now." 

There  was  a  little  high-chair  on  each  side  of  the  table, 
and  at  first  these  were  empty,  but  in  a  few  minutes  the  door 
opened  and  in  came  the  two  little  boys.  They  had  pretty, 
clean  dresses  on,  and  their  "  bangs  "  and  curls  were  bright 
with  being  brushed. 

"  Even  they  have  been  dressed  up  to  do  me  honour," 
thought  the  cake. 

But,  the  next  minute,  it  began  to  feel  quite  nervous  again. 
Vivian's  chair  was  near  the  glass  stand,  and  when  he  had 
climbed  up  and  seated  himself,  he  put  one  elbow  on  the  table 
and  rested  his  fat  chin  on  his  fat  hand,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on 
the  cake,  sat  and  stared  at  it  in  such  an  unnaturally  quiet 
manner  for  some  seconds,  that  any  cake  might  well  have  felt 
nervous. 

"There's  the  cake,"  he  said,  at  last,  in  such  a  deeply 
thoughtful  voice  that  the  cake  felt  faint  with  anger. 

Then  a  remarkable  thing  happened.  Some  one  drew  the 
stand  toward  them  and  took  the  knife  and  cut  out  a  large  slice 
of  the  cake. 

"  Go  away,"  said  the  cake,  though  no  one  heard  it.  "  I  am 
cake  !     I  am  rich  !     I  am  not  for  boys  !     How  dare  you  ?" 

Vivian  stretched  out  his  hand ;  he  took  the  slice  ;  he  lifted 
it  up,  and  then  the  cake  saw  his  red  mouth  open — yes,  open 


12$  THE  PROUD  LITTLE  GRAIN  OF   WHEAT 

wider  than  it  could  have  believed  possible — wide  enough  to 
show  two  dreadful  rows  of  little  sharp  white  things. 

"  Good  gra ■"  it  began. 

But  it  never  said  "cious."  Never  at  all.  For  in  two 
minutes  Vivian  had  eaten  it ! ! 

And  there  was  an  end  of  its  airs  and  graces. 


BEHIND  THE   WHITE    BRICK. 


BEHIND  THE  WHITE  BRICK. 

IT  began  with  Aunt  Hetty's  being  out  of  temper,  which,  it 
must  be  confessed,  was  nothing  new.  At  its  best,  Aunt 
Hetty's  temper  was  none  of  the  most  charming,  and  this 
morning  it  was  at  its  worst.  She  had  awakened  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  a  hard  day's  work  before  her,  and  she 
had  awakened  late,  and  so  everything  had  gone  wrong  from 
the  first.  There  was  a  sharp  ring  in  her  voice  when  she 
came  to  Jem's  bedroom  door  and  called  out,  "Jemima,  get  up 
this  minute ! " 

Jem  knew  what  to  expect  when  Aunt  Hetty  began  a  day 
by  calling  her  "Jemima."  It  was  one  of  the  poor  child's 
grievances  that  she  had  been  given  such  an  ugly  name.  In 
all  the  books  she  had  read,  and  she  had  read  a  great  many, 
Jem  never  had  met  a  heroine  who  was  called  Jemima.  But 
it  had  been  her  mother's  favourite  sister's  name,  and  so  it  had 
fallen  to  her  lot.  Her  mother  always  called  her  "Jem,"  or 
"  Mimi,"  which  was  much  prettier,  and  even  Aunt  Hetty  only 
reserved  Jemima  for  unpleasant  state  occasions. 

It  was  a  dreadful  day  to  Jem.  Her  mother  was  not  at 
home,  and  would  not  be  until  night.  She  had  been  called 
away  unexpectedly,  and  had  been  obliged  to  leave  Jem  and 
the  baby  to  Aunt  Hetty's  mercies. 


126  BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

So  Jem  found  herself  busy  enough.  Scarcely  had  she 
finished  doing  one  thing,  when  Aunt  Hetty  told  her  to  begin 
another.  She  wiped  dishes  and  picked  fruit  and  attended  to 
the  baby ;  and  when  baby  had  gone  to  sleep,  and  everything 
else  seemed  disposed  of,  for  a  time,  at  least,  she  was  so  tired 
that  she  was  Mad  to  sit  down. 

o 

And  then  she  thought  of  the  book  she  had  been  reading 
the  night  before — a  certain  delightful  story  book,  about  a  little 
girl  whose  name. was  Flora,  and  who  was  so  happy  and  rich 
and  pretty  and  good  that  Jem  had  likened  her  to  the  little 
princesses  one  reads  about,  to  whose  christening  feast  every 
fairy  brings  a  gift. 

"  I  shall  have  time  to  finish  my  chapter  before  dinner-time 
comes,"  said  Jem,  and  she  sat  down  snugly  in  one  corner  of 
the  wide,  old  fashioned  fireplace. 

But  she  had  not  read  more  than  two  pages  before  some- 
thing dreadful  happened.  Aunt  Hetty  came  into  the  room  in 
a  great  hurry — in  such  a  hurry,  indeed,  that  she  caught  her 
foot  in  the  matting  and  fell,  striking  her  elbow  sharply  against 
a  chair,  which  so  upset  her  temper  that  the  moment  she  found 
herself  on  her  feet  she  flew  at  Jem. 

"  What !  "  she  said,  snatching  the  book  from  her,  "  reading 
again,  when  I  am  running  all  over  the  house  for  you  ?"  And 
she  flung  the  pretty  little  blue  covered  volume  into  the  fire. 

Jem  sprang  to  rescue  it  with  a  cry,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  reach  it ;  it  had  fallen  into  a  great  hollow  of  red  coal,  and 
the  blaze  caught  it  at  once. 


BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK.  127 


"You  are  a  wicked  woman!"  cried  Jem,  in  a  dreadful 
passion,  to  Aunt  Hetty.      "You  are  a  wicked  woman." 

Then  matters  reached  a  climax.  Aunt  Hetty  boxed  her 
ears,  pushed  her  back  on  her  little  footstool,  and  walked  out 
of  the  room. 

Jem  hid  her  face  on  her  arms  and  cried  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  She  cried  until  her  eyes  were  heavy,  and  she 
thought  she  should  be  obliged  to  go  to  sleep.  But  just  as 
she  was  thinking  of  going  to  sleep,  something  fell  down  the 
chimney  and  made  her  look  up.  It  was  a  piece  of  mortar, 
and  it  brought  a  good  deal  of  soot  with  it.  She  bent  forward 
and  looked  up  to  see  where  it  had  come  from.  The  chimney 
was  so  very  wide  that  this  was  easy  enough.  She  could  see 
where  the  mortar  had  fallen  from  the  side  and  left  a  white 
patch. 

"How  white  it  looks  against  the  black!"  said  Jem; 
"it  is  like  a  white  brick  among  the  black  ones.  What  a 
queer  place  a  chimney  is  !  I  can  see  a  bit  of  the  blue  sky,  I 
think." 

And  then  a  funny  thought  came  into  her  fanciful  little 
head.  What  a  many  things  were  burned  in  the  big  fireplace 
and  vanished  in  smoke  or  tinder  up  the  chimney  !  Where  did 
everything  go  ?  There  was  Flora,  for  instance — Flora  who 
was  represented  on  the  frontispiece — with  lovely,  soft,  flowing 
hair,  and  a  little  fringe  on  her  pretty  round  forehead,  crowned 
with  a  circlet  of  daisies,  and  a  laugh  in  her  wide-awake  round 
eyes.     Where  was  she   by   this   time  ?     Certainly  there  was 


128  BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

nothing  left  of  her  in  the  fire.     Jem  almost  began  to  cry  again 
at  the  thought. 

"  It  was  too  bad,"  she  said.  "  She  was  so  pretty  and  funny, 
and  I  did  like  her  so." 

I  daresay  it  scarcely  will  be  credited  by  unbelieving  people 
when  I  tell  them  what  happened  next,  it  was  such  a  very 
singular  thing,  indeed. 

Jem  felt  herself  gradually  lifted  off  her  little  footstool. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said,  timidly,  "  I  feel  very  light."  She  did  feel 
light,  indeed.  She  felt  so  light  that  she  was  sure  she  was 
rising  gently  in  the  air. 

"Oh,"  she  said  again,  "  how — how  very  light  I  feel !  Oh, 
dear,  I'm  going  up  the  chimney  ! " 

It  was  rather  strange  that  she  never  thought  of  calling 
for  help,  but  she  did  not.  She  was  not  easily  frightened  ;  and 
now  she  was  only  wonderfully  astonished,  as  she  remem- 
bered afterwards.  She  shut  her  eyes  tight  and  gave  a  little 
gasp. 

"I've  heard  Aunt  Hetty  talk  about  the  draught  drawing 
things  up  the  chimney,  but  I  never  knew  it  was  as  strong  as 
this,"  she  said. 

She  went  up,  up,  up,  quietly  and  steadily,  and  without  any 
uncomfortable  feeling  at  all ;  and  then  all  at  once  she  stopped, 
feeling  that  her  feet  rested  against  something  solid.  She 
opened  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her,  and  there  she  was, 
standing  right  opposite  the  white  brick,  her  feet  on  a  tiny 
ledge. 


BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK.  129 

"Well,"  she  said,  "this  is  funny." 

But  the  next  thing  that  happened  was  funnier  still.  She 
found  that,  without  thinking  what  she  was  doing,  she  was 
knocking  on  the  white  brick  with  her  knuckles,  as  if  it  was 
a  door  and  she  expected  somebody  to  open  it.  The  next 
minute  she  heard  footsteps,  and  then  a  sound,  as  if  some  one 
was  drawing-  back  a  little  bolt. 

"  It  is  a  door,"  said  Jem,  "and  somebody  is  going  to  open 
it. 

The  white  brick  moved  a  little,  and  some  more  mortar  and 
soot  fell ;  then  the  brick  moved  a  little  more,  and  then  it  slid 
aside  and  left  an  open  space. 

"It's  a  room!"  cried  Jem.  "There's  a  room  behind 
it!" 

And  so  there  was,  and  before  the  open  space  stood  a  pretty 
little  girl,  with  long  lovely  hair  and  a  fringe  on  her  forehead. 
Jem  elapsed  her  hands  in  amazement.  It  was  Flora  herself, 
as  she  looked  in  the  picture,  and  Flora  stood  laughing  and 
nodding. 

"Come  in,"  she  said.      "  I  thought  it  was  you." 

"  But  how  can  I  come  in  through  such  a  little  place  ? '' 
asked  Jem. 

"  Oh,  that  is  easy  enough."  said  Flora.  "  Here,  give  me 
your  hand." 

Jem  did  as  she  told  her,  and  found  that  it  was  easy 
enough.  In  an  instant  she  had  passed  through  the  opening, 
the  white  brick  had  gone  back  to  its  place,  and  she  was 
9 


i3o  BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

standing  by  Flora's  side  in  a  large  room — the  nicest  room 
she  had  ever  seen.  It  was  big  and  lofty  and  light,  and  there 
were  all  kinds  of  delightful  things  in  it — books  and  flowers 
and  playthings  and  pictures,  and  in  one  corner  a  great  cage 
full  of  love-birds. 

"Have  I  ever  seen  it  before?"  asked  Jem,  glancing 
slowly  round. 

"  Yes,"  said  Flora  ;  "you  saw  it  last  night — in  your  mind. 
Don't  you  remember  it  ?" 

Jem  shook  her  head. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  did,  but " 

"Why,"  said  Flora,  laughing,  "  it's  my  room,  the  one  you 
read  about  last  night." 

"  So  it  is,"  sai-d  Jem.      "  But  how  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell  you  that;  I  myself  don't  know.  But  I  am 
here,  and  so  " — rather  mysteriously — "  are  a  great  many 
other  things." 

"Are  they?"  said  Jem,  very  much  interested.  "What 
things  ?     Burned  things  ?     I  was  just  wondering " 

"  Not  only  burned  things,"  said  Flora,  nodding.  "  Just 
come  with  me  and  I'll  show  you  something." 

She  led  the  way  out  of  the  room  and  down  a  little  pas- 
sage with  several  doors  in  each  side  of  it,  and  she  opened 
one  door  and  showed  Jem  what  was  on  the  other  side  of  it. 
That  was  a  room,  too,  and  this  time  it  was  funny  as  well  as 
pretty.  Both  floor  and  walls  were  padded  with  rose  colour, 
and  the  floor  was  strewn  with    toys.     There  were   big  soft 


BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK.  131 


balls,  rattles,  horses,  woolly  dogs,  and  a  doll  or  so  ;  there 
was  one  low  cushioned  chair  and  a  low  table. 

"  You  can  come  in,"  said  a  shrill  little  voice  behind  the 
door,  "  only  mind  you  don't  tread  on  things." 

"  What  a  funny  little  voice!"  said  Jem,  but  she  had  no 
sooner  said  it  than  she  jumped  back. 

The  owner  of  the  voice,  who  had  just  come  forward, 
was  no  other  than  Baby. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Jem,  beginning  to  feel  frightened,  "  I 
left  you  fast  asleep  in  your  crib." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  said  Baby,  somewhat  scornfully.  "  That's 
just  the  way  with  you  grown-up  people.  You  think  you 
know  everything,  and  yet  you  haven't  discretion  enough  to 
know  when  a  pin  is  sticking  into  one.  You'd  know  soon 
enough  if  you  had  one  sticking  into  your  own  back." 

"  But  I'm  not  grown  up,"  stammered  Jem  ;  "  and  when 
you  are  at  home  you  can  neither  walk  nor  talk.  You're  not 
six  months  old." 

"  Well,  miss,"  retorted  Baby,  whose  wrongs  seemed  to 
have  soured  her  disposition  somewhat,  "you  have  no  need 
to  throw  that  in  my  teeth  ;  you  were  not  six  months  old, 
either,  when  you  were  my  age." 

Jem  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  You  haven't  got  any  teeth,"  she  said. 

"  Haven't  I  ?"  said  Baby,  and  she  displayed  two  beauti- 
ful rows  with  some  haughtiness  of  manner.  "  When  I  am  up 
here,"  she  said,  "  I  am  supplied  with  the  modern  conveniences, 


1 32  BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

and  that's  why  I  never  complain.  Do  I  ever  cry  when  I  am 
asleep  ?    It's  not  falling  asleep  I  object  to,  it's  falling  awake." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Jem.      "Are  you  asleep  now?" 

"  I'm  what  you  call  asleep.  I  can  only  come  here  when 
I'm  what  you  call  asleep.  Asleep,  indeed  !  It's  no  wonder 
we  always  cry  when  we  have  to  fall  awake." 

"  But  we  don't  mean  to  be  unkind  to  you,"  protested 
Jem,  meekly. 

She  could  not  help  thinking  Baby  was  very  severe. 

"  Don't  mean  !  "  said  Baby.  "  Well,  why  don't  you  think 
more,  then  ?  How  would  you  like  to  have  all  the  nice  things 
snatched  away  from  you,  and  all  the  old  rubbish  packed  off 
on  you,  as  if  you  hadn't  any  sense  ?  How  would  you  like  to 
have  to  sit  and  stare  at  things  you  wanted,  and  not  to  be  able 
to  reach  them,  or,  if  you  did  reach  them,  have  them  fall  out 
of  your  hand,  and  roll  away  in  the  most  unfeeling  manner  ? 
And  then  be  scolded  and  called  '  cross  ! '  It's  no  wonder  we 
are  bald.  You'd  be  bald  yourself.  It's  trouble  and  worry 
that  keep  us  bald  until  we  can  begin  to  take  care  of  our- 
selves ;  I  had  more  hair  than  this  at  first,  but  it  fell  off,  as  well 
it  might.      No  philosopher  ever  thought  of  that,  I  suppose  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Jem,  in  despair,  "  I  hope  you  enjoy  your- 
self when  you  are  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Baby.  "That's  one  comfort. 
There  is  nothing  to  knock  my  head  against,  and  things  have 
patent  stoppers  on  them,  so  that  they  can't  roll  away,  and 
everything  is  soft  and  easy  to  pick  up." 


BEHIND   THE   WHITE  BRICK.  133 

There  was  a  slight  pause  after  this,  and  Baby  seemed  to 
cool  down. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  like  me  to  show  you  round  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Not  if  you  have  any  objection,"  replied  Jem,  who  was 
rather  subdued. 

"  I  would  as  soon  do  it  as  not,"  said  Baby.  "  You  are 
not  as  bad  as  some  people,  though  you  do  get  my  clothes 
twisted  when  you  hold  me." 

Upon  the  whole,  she  seemed  rather  proud  of  her  position. 
It  was  evident  she  quite  regarded  herself  as  hostess.  She 
held  her  small  bald  head  very  high  indeed,  as  she  trotted  on 
before  them.  She  stopped  at  the  first  door  she  came  to,  and 
knocked  three  times.  She  was  obliged  to  stand  upon  tiptoe 
to  reach  the  knocker. 

"  He's  sure  to  be  at  home  at  this  time  of  year,"  she 
remarked.      "This  is  the  busy  season." 

"  Who's  '  he  '  ? "  inquired  Jem. 

But  Flora  only  laughed  at  Miss  Baby's  consequential  air. 

"  S.  C,  to  be  sure,"  was  the  answer,  as  the  young  lady 
pointed  to  the  door-plate,  upon  which  Jem  noticed,  for  the 
first  time,  "  S.  C."  in  very  large  letters. 

The  door  opened,  apparently  without  assistance,  and  they 
entered  the  apartment. 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Jem,  the  next  minute. 
"  Goodness  gracious  !  " 

She  miorht  well  be  astonished.  It  was  such  a  lone  room 
that  she  could  not  see  to  the  end  of  it,  and  it  was  piled  up 


134  BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

from  floor  to  ceiling  with  toys  of  every  description,  and  there 
was  such  bustle  and  buzzing  in  it  that  it  was  quite  confusing. 
The  bustle  and  buzzing  arose  from  a  very  curious  cause,  too, 
— it  was  the  bustle  and  buzz  of  hundreds  of  tiny  men  and 
women  who  were  working  at  little  tables  no  higher  than 
mushrooms, — the  pretty  tiny  women  cutting  out  and  sewing, 
the  pretty  tiny  men  sawing  and  hammering  and  all  talking 
at  once.  The  principal  person  in  the  place  escaped  Jem's 
notice  at  first ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  she  saw  him, — a 
little  old  gentleman,  with  a  rosy  face  and  sparkling  eyes, 
sitting  at  a  desk,  and  writing  in  a  book  almost  as  big  as 
himself.  He  was  so  busy  that  he  was  quite  excited,  and  had 
been  obliged  to  throw  his  white  fur  coat  and  cap  aside,  and 
he  was  at  work  in  his  red  waistcoat. 

"Look  here,  if  you  please,"  piped  Baby.  "I  have  brought 
some  one  to  see  you." 

When  he  turned  round,  Jem  recognized  him  at  once. 

"Eh!  Eh!"  he  said.  "What!  What!  Who's  this, 
Tootsicums  ?  " 

Baby's  manner  became  very  acid  indeed. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you  would  have  said  that,  Mr. 
Claus,"  she  remarked.  "  I  can't  help  myself  down  below,  but 
I  generally  have  my  rights  respected  up  here.  I  should  like 
to  know  what  sane  godfather  or  godmother  would  give  one 
the  name  of  'Tootsicums'  in  one's  baptism.  They  are  bad 
enough,  I  must  say;  but  I  never  heard  of  any  of  them  calling 
a  person  'Tootsicums.'" 


■jj "  -    , 


"eh!  eh!"  he  said,     "what!  what!    who's  this,  tootsicums?" 


BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK.  137 

"Come,  come!"  said  S.  C,  chuckling  comfortably  and 
rubbing  his  hands.  "  Don't  be  too  dignified, — it's  a  bad 
thing.  And  don't  be  too  fond  of  flourishing  your  rights  in 
people's  faces, — that's  the  worst  of  all,  Miss  Midget.  Folks 
who  make  such  a  fuss  about  their  rights  turn  them  into 
wrongs  sometimes." 

Then  he  turned  suddenly  to  Jem. 

"  You  are  the  little  crirl  from  down  below,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Jem.  "I'm  Jem,  and  this  is  my  friend 
Flora, — out  of  the  blue  book." 

"  I'm  happy  to  make  her  acquaintance,"  said  S.  C,  "  and 
I'm  happy  to  make  yours.  You  are  a  nice  child,  though  a 
trifle  peppery.      I'm  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"I'm  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Jem.  "I 
wasn't  quite  sure " 

But  there  she  stopped,  feeling  that  it  would  be  scarcely 
polite  to  tell  him  that  she  had  begun  of  late  years  to  lose 
faith  in  him. 

But  S.  C.  only  chuckled  more  comfortably  than  ever  and 
rubbed  his  hands  aeain. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  he  said.      "  You  know  who  I  am,  then  ?  " 

Jem  hesitated  a  moment,  wondering  whether  it  would  not 
be  taking  a  liberty  to  mention  his  name  without  putting 
"  Mr."  before  it ;  then  she  remembered  what  Baby  had  called 
him. 

"  Baby  called  you  '  Mr.  Claus,'  sir,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  I 
have  seen  pictures  of  you." 


138  BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  S.  C.  "S.  Claus,  Esquire,  of  Chim- 
neyland.      How  do  you  like  me  ?" 

"  Very  much,"  answered  Jem  ;   "  very  much,  indeed,  sir." 

"  Glad  of  it  !  Glad  of  it  !  But  what  was  it  you  were  go- 
ing to  say  you  were  not  quite  sure  of  ?" 

Jem  blushed  a  little. 

"  I  was  not  quite  sure  that — that  you  were  true,  sir.  At 
least  I  have  not  been  quite  sure  since  I  have  been  older." 

S.  C.  rubbed  the  bald  part  of  his  head  and  gave  a  little 
sigh. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  your  feelings,  sir,"  faltered  Jem, 
who  was  a  very  kind  hearted  little  soul. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  S.  C.  "Not  exactly.  And  it  is  not  your 
fault  either.  It  is  natural,  I  suppose;  at  anyrate,  it  is  the  way 
of  the  world.  People  lose  their  belief  in  a  great  many  things 
as  they  grow  older  ;  but  that  does  not  make  the  things  not 
true,  thank  goodness  !  and  their  faith  often  comes  back  after 
a  while.  But,  bless  me!"  he  added,  briskly,  "I'm  moralizing, 
and  who  thanks  a  man  for  doing  that  ?     Suppose " 

"  Black  eyes  or  blue,  sir  ?  "  said  a  tiny  voice  close  to  them. 

Jem  and  Flora  turned  round,  and  saw  it  was  one  of  the 
small  workers  who  was  asking  the  question. 

"Whom  for?"  inquired  S.  C. 

"  Little  girl  in  the  red  brick  house  at  the  corner,"  said  the 
workwoman  ;  "name  of  Birdie." 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  S.  C.  to  the  children,  and  he 
turned  to  the  bis:  book  and  began  to  run  his  fingers  down  the 


BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK.  139 

pages  in  a  business-like  manner.  "  Ah!  here  she  is  !"  he  ex- 
claimed at  last.  "  Blue  eyes,  if  you  please,  Thistle,  and 
golden  hair.  And  let  it  be  a  big  one.  She  takes  good  care 
of  them." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Thistle  ;  "  I  am  personally  acquainted 
with  several  dolls  in  her  family.  I  go  to  parties  in  her  dolls' 
house  sometimes  when  she  is  fast  asleep  at  night,  and  they 
all  speak  very  highly  of  her.  She  is  most  attentive  to  them 
when  they  are  ill.  In  fact,  her  pet  doll  is  a  cripple,  with  a 
stiff  leg." 

She  ran  back  to  her  work  and  S.  C.  finished  his  sentence. 

"  Suppose  I  show  you  my  establishment,"  he  said.  "  Come 
with  me." 

It  really  would  be  quite  impossible  to  describe  the  wonder- 
ful things  he  showed  them.  Jem's  head  was  quite  in  a  whirl 
before  she  had  seen  one-half  of  them,  and  even  Baby  con- 
descended to  become  excited. 

"There  must  be  a  great  many  children  in  the  world,  Mr. 
Claus,"  ventured  Jem. 

"Yes,  yes,  millions  of  'em  ;  bless  'em,"  said  S.  C,  growing 
rosier  with  delight  at  the  very  thought.  "  We  never  run  out 
of  them,  that's  one  comfort.  There's  a  larg^e  and  varied 
assortment  always  on  hand.  Fresh  ones  every  year,  too,  so 
that  when  one  grows  too  old  there  is  a  new  one  ready.  I 
have  a  place  like  this  in  every  twelfth  chimney.  Now  it's 
boys,  now  it's  girls,  always  one  or  t'other;  and  there's  no  end 
of  playthings  for  them,  too,  I'm  glad  to  say.      For  girls,  the 


Mo  BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

great  thing  seems  to  be  dolls.  Blitzen  !  what  comfort  they 
do  take  in  dolls  !  but  the  boys  are  for  horses  and  racket." 

They  were  standing  near  a  table  where  a  worker  was  just 
putting  the  finishing  touch  to  the  dress  of  a  large  wax  doll, 
and  just  at  that  moment,  to  Jem's  surprise,  she  set  it  on  the 
floor,  upon  its  feet,  quite  coolly. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  doll,  politely. 

Jem  quite  jumped. 

''You  can  join  the  rest  now  and  introduce  yourself,"  said 
the  worker. 

The  doll  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  her  train. 

"  It  hangs  very  nicely,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  it's  the  latest 
fashion." 

"Mine  never  talked  like  that,"  said  Flora.  "My  best  one 
could  only  say  '  Mamma,'  and  it  said  it  very  badly,  too." 

"  She  was  foolish  for  saying  it  at  all,"  remarked  the  doll, 
haughtily.  "We  don't  talk  and  walk  before  ordinary  people  ; 
we  keep  our  accomplishments  for  our  own  amusement,  and 
for  the  amusement  of  our  friends.  If  you  should  chance  to 
get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  some  time,  or  should  run 
into  the  room  suddenly  some  day,  after  you  have  left  it, 
you  might  hear — but  what  is  the  use  of  talking  to  human 
beings  ?  " 

"  You  know  a  great  deal,  considering  you  are  only  just 
finished,"  snapped  Baby,  who  really  was  a  Tartar. 

"I  was  finished,"  retorted  the  doll.  "I  did  not  begin 
life  as  a  baby  !  "  very  scornfully. 


BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK.  141 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Baby.      ''  We  improve  as  we  get  older." 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  answered  the  doll.  "  There  is  plenty  of 
room  for  improvement."     And  she  walked  away  in  great  state. 

S.  C.  looked  at  Baby  and  then  shook  his  head.  "  I  shall 
not  have  to  take  very  much  care  of  you,"  he  said,  absent- 
mindedly.  "  You  are  able  to  take  pretty  good  care  of 
yourself." 

"  I  hope  I  am,"  said  Baby,  tossing  her  head. 

S.  C.  gave  his  head  another  shake. 

"  Don't  take  too  good  care  of  yourself,"  he  said.  •"  That's 
a  bad  thing,  too." 

He  showed  them  the  rest  of  his  wonders,  and  then  went 
with  them  to  the  door  to  bid  them  good-bye. 

"  I  am  sure  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Claus," 
said  Jem,  gratefully.  "  I  shall  never  again  think  you  are  not 
true,  sir." 

S.  C.  patted  her  shoulder  quite  affectionately. 

"That's  right,"  he  said.  "Believe  in  things  just  as  long 
as  you  can,  my  dear.  Good-bye  until  Christmas  Eve.  I 
shall  see  you  then,  if  you  don't  see  me." 

He  must  have  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  Jem,  for  he  stood 
looking  at  her,  and  seemed  very  reluctant  to  close  the  door, 
and  even  after  he  had  closed  it,  and  they  had  turned  away, 
he  opened  it  a  little  again  to  call  to  her. 

"  Believe  in  things  as  long  as  you  can,  my  dear." 

"  How  kind  he  is!"  exclaimed  Jem,  full  of  pleasure. 

Baby  shrugged  her  shoulders. 


i42  BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

"  Well  enough  in  his  way,"  she  said,  "  but  rather  inclined 
to  prose  and  be  old-fashioned." 

Jem  looked  at  her,  feeling-  rather  frightened,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

Baby  showed  very  little  interest  in  the  next  room  she  took 
them  to. 

"  I  don't  care  about  this  place,"  she  said,  as  she  threw  open 
the  door.  "  It  has  nothing  but  old  things  in  it.  It  is  the 
Nobody-knows-where  room." 

She  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  before  Jem  made  a  little 
spring  and  picked  something  up. 

"Here's  my  old  strawberry  pincushion!"  she  cried  out. 
And  then,  with  another  jump  and  another  dash  at  two  or 
three  other  things,  "  And  here's  my  old  fairy-book !  And 
here's  my  little  locket  I  lost  last  summer !  How  did  they 
come  here  ? " 

"They  went  Nobody-knows-where,"  said  Baby. 

"  And  this  is  it." 

"  But  cannot  I  have  them  again,"  asked  Jem. 

"No,"  answered  Baby.  "Things  that  go  to  Nobody- 
knows-where  stay  there." 

"  Oh  !  "  sighed  Jem,  "  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  They  are  only  old  things,"  said  Baby. 

"  But  I  like  my  old  things,"  said  Jem.  "  I  love  them. 
And  there  is  mother's  needle  case.  I  wish  I  might  take  that. 
Her  dead  little  sister  gave  it  to  her,  and  she  was  so  sorry 
when  she  lost  it." 


BEHIND    THE    WHITE  BRICK.  143 

"  People  ought  to  take  better  care  of  their  things,"  re- 
marked Baby. 

Jem  would  have  liked  to  stay  in  this  room  and  wander 
about  among  her  old  favourites  for  a  long  time,  but  Baby  was 
in  a  hurry. 

"  You'd  better  come  away,"  she  said.  "  Suppose  I  was  to 
have  to  fall  awake  and  leave  you  ? " 

The  next  place  they  went  into  was  the  most  wonderful 
of  all. 

"  This  is  the  Wish  room,"  said  Baby.  "  Your  wishes 
come  here — yours  and  mother's,  and  Aunt  Hetty's  and  father's 
and  mine.     When  did  you  wish  that?" 

Each  article  was  placed  under  a  glass  shade,  and  labeled 
with  the  words  and  name  of  the  wishers.  Some  of  them 
were  beautiful,  indeed  ;  but  the  tall  shade  Baby  nodded  at 
when  she  asked  her  question  was  truly  alarming,  and  caused 
Jem  a  dreadful  pang  of  remorse.  Underneath  it  sat  Aunt 
Hetty,  with  her  mouth  stitched  up  so  that  she  could  not 
speak  a  word,  and  beneath  the  stand  was  a  label  bearing 
these  words,  in  large  black  letters — 

"  I  wish  Aunt  Hetty's  mouth  was  sewed  up.     Jern." 

"  Oh,  dear  !"  cried  Jem,  in  great  distress.  "  How  it  must 
have  hurt  her  !  How  unkind  of  me  to  say  it  !  I  wish  I 
hadn't  wished  it.      I  wish  it  would  come  undone." 

She  had  no  sooner  said  it  than  her  wish  was  gratified. 
The  old  label  disappeared  and  a  new  one  showed  itself,  and 
there  sat  Aunt  Hetty,  looking  herself  again,  and  even  smiling. 


144  BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

Jem  was  grateful  beyond  measure,  but  Baby  seemed  to 
consider  her  weak  minded. 

"  It  served  her  right,"  she  said. 

"  But  when,  after  looking  at  the  wishes  at  that  end  of 
the  room,  they  went  to  the  other  end,  her  turn  came.  In 
one  corner  stood  a  shade  with  a  baby  under  it,  and  the  baby 
was  Miss  Baby  herself,  but  looking  as  she  very  rarely  looked  ; 
in  fact,  it  was  the  brightest,  best  tempered  baby  one  could 
imagine." 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  better  tempered  baby.  Mother,"  was 
written  on  the  label. 

Baby  became  quite  red  in  the  face  with  anger  and  confusion. 

"  That  wasn't  here  the  last  time  I  came,"  she  said.  "  And 
it  is  right  down  mean  in  mother  !  " 

This  was  more  than  Jem  could  bear. 

"  It  wasn't  mean,"  she  said.  "  She  couldn't  help  it.  You 
know  you  are  a  cross  baby — everybody  says  so." 

Baby  turned  two  shades  redder. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  she  retorted.  "  It  was  mean  ; 
and  as  to  that  silly  little  thing  being  better  than  I  am,"  turn- 
ing up  her  small  nose,  which  was  quite  turned  up  enough  by 
Nature — "  I  must  say  I  don't  see  anything  so  very  grand 
about  her.     So,  there  !  " 

She  scarcely  condescended  to  speak  to  them  while  they 
remained  in  the  Wish  room,  and  when  they  left  it,  and  went 
to  the  last  door  in  the  passage,  she  quite  scowled  at  it. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  open  it  at  all,"  she  said. 


BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK. 


i45 


"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Flora.      "  You  might  as  well." 

"  It  is  the  Lost  pin  room,"  she  said.      "  I  hate  pins." 

She  threw  the  door  open  with  a  bang,  and  then  stood  and 
shook  her  little  fist  viciously.  The  room  was  full  of  pins, 
stacked  solidly  together.  There  were  hundreds  of  them — 
thousands — millions,  it  seemed. 

"  I'm  glad  they  are  lost  !  "  she  said.  "  I  wish  there  were 
more  of  them  there." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  were  so  many  pins  in  the  world," 
said  Jem. 

"Pooh  !  "  said  Baby.  "  Those  .are  only  the  lost  ones  that 
have  belonged  to  our  family." 

After  this  they  went  back  to  Flora's  room  and  sat  down, 
while  Flora  told  Jem  the  rest  of  her  story. 

"  Oh  !"  sighed  Jem,  when  she  came  to  the  end.  "  How 
delightful  it  is  to  be  here  !     Can  I  never  come  again  ? " 

"  In  one  way  you  can,"  said  Flora.  "  When  you  want  to 
come,  just  sit  down  and  be  as  quiet  as  possible,  and  shut  your 
eyes  and  think  very  hard  about  it.  You  can  see  everything 
you  have  seen  to-day,  if  you  try." 

"Then  I  shall  be  sure  to  try,"  Jem  answered.  She  was 
going  to  ask  some  other  question,  but  Baby  stopped  her. 

"Oh!  I'm  falling  awake,"  she  whimpered,  crossly,  rubbing 
her  eyes.     "  I'm  falling  awake  again." 

And  then,  suddenly,  a  very  strange  feeling  came  over  Jem. 
Flora  and  the  pretty  room  seemed  to  fade  away,  and,  without 
being  able  to  account  for  it  at  all,  she  found  herself  sitting  on 


1 46  BEHIND   THE    WHITE  BRICK. 

her  little  stool  again,  with  a  beautiful  scarlet  and  gold  book 
on  her  knee,  and  her  mother  standing  by  laughing  at  her 
amazed  face.  As  to  Miss  Baby,  she  was  crying  as  hard  as 
she  could  in  her  crib. 

"  Mother  !"  Jem  cried  out,  "have  you  really  come  home 
so  early  as  this,  and — and,"  rubbing  her  eyes  in  great  amaze- 
ment, ''  how  did  I  come  down  ?  " 

"Don't  I  look  as  if  I  was  real?"  said  her  mother,  laughing 
and  kissing  her.  "  And  doesn't  your  present  look  real  ?  I 
don't  know  how  you  came  down,  I'm  sure.  Where  have  you 
been  ?  " 

Jem  shook  her  head  very  mysteriously.  She  saw  that  her 
mother  fancied  she  had  been  asleep,  but  she  herself  knew 
better. 

"  I  know  you  youldn't  believe  it  was  true  if  I  told  you," 
she  said  ;  "  I  have  been 

Behind  the  White  Brick." 


SCRIBNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


SARA  CREWE; 


OR,    WHAT    HAPPENED    AT    MISS    MINCHIN'S. 
BY  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT. 

Richly  and  Fully  Illustrated  by  R.  B.  Birch. 

One  volume,  square  8vo,  .....  $1.00. 

As  a  beautiful  story  filled  with  an  exquisite  pathos  and  sweet- 
ness, "  Sara  Crewe"  took  rank  at  once  with  the  author's  famous 
"Little  Lord  Fauntleroy,"now  in  its  one  hundred  and  sixteenth 
thousand.  As  her  former  story  had  a  boy  for  its  hero,  so  this 
has  a  girl  for  its  heroine — a  weird,  queer  little  creature,  whose 
elfish  cleverness  and  odd  ways  with  her  romantic  imaginings 
and  "supposes,"  are  made  of  striking  interest  by  the  exquisite 
art  with  which  the  author  has  woven  them  into  the  texture  of 
the  story. 

"  '  Sara  Crewe  '  wi'l  join  company  with  '  Lord  Fauntleroy,'  and  the  two  to- 
gether will  take  their  place  among  the  classic  children  of  literature." —  The 
Christian  Union. 

" '  Sara  Crewe '  is  the  Nineteenth  Century  Cinderella,  equally  triumphant  in 

the  ashes  cf  the  Kitchen  or  in  the  soft  luxury  of  the  Parlor.    The  story  is  beyond 

many  a  longer  and  more  ambitious  one  in  its  fascinating,  artistic,  heart-subduing 

power.    Like  its  predecessor,  '  Fauntleroy,'  it  has  come  to  stay  in  our  literature 

among  its  best  gems." — The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  Everybody  was  in  love  with  '  Little  Lord  Fauntleroy,'  and  I  think  all  the  world  and  the  rest  of  mankind 

will  be  in  love  with  '  Sara  Crewe  '    The  tale  is  so  tender,  so  wise ,  so  human,  that  I  wish  every  girl  in  Amer'ca 

could  read  it,  for  I  think  every  one  would  be  made  better  by  it." — Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 

"  It  is  a  story  to  linger  over  in  the  reading,  it  is  so  brightly,  frankly,  sweetly  and  tenderly  written,  and  to  re- 
member and  return  to.  In  creating  her  little  gentlewoman,  '  Sara  Crewe,' so  fresh,  so  simple,  so  natural,  so 
genuine,  and  so  indomitable,  Mrs.  Burnett  has  added  another  Child  to  English  fiction.  No  one  who  reads  this 
story  can  read  it  without  feeling  or  can  doubt  the  loving  genius  of  Mrs.  Burnett.—/?.  H.  Stoddard. 


LITTLE  LORD  FAUNTLEROY. 

BY  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT. 

Beautifully   Illustrated  by   R.   B.   Birch. 

One  volume,  square  8vo,       .  .  .  $2.00. 


The  lapse  of  time  only  confirms  the  verdict  with  which  this  story  was  re- 
ceived— that  it  would  take  and  hold  its  place  among  children's  classics. 

"The  story  is  a  masterpiece  of  refinement  and  beauty." — The  Newark  Advertiser. 

"A  delightful  book  for  reading  aloud  to  children  because  it  is  one  that  both  grown  people 
and  children  can  enjoy  keenly,  and  the  pleasure  can  b«  equally  shared." — The  Chicago 
Tribune. 

"  In  '  Little  Lord  Fauntleroy  '  we  gain  another  charming  child  to  add  to  our  gallery  of  juve- 
nile heroes  and  heroines  ;  one  who  teaches  a  great  lesson  with  such  truth  and  sweetness,  that 
we  part  with  him  with  real  regret  when  the  episode  is  over." — Louisa  M.  Alcott. 

"  We  have  seldom  found  among  the  issues  of  children's  books  for  many  years  a  story  so 
winsome  and  charmingly  written.     The  '  holy  simplicity  of  childhood,'  as  the  Germans  call  it, 
is  the  key-note  of  the  narrative.     The  little  hero  wins  all  hearts  by  the  irresistible  sympathy  of 
his  nature,  the  inborn  refinement  of  his  manners,  and  the  responsive  goodness  of  bis  heart.—    g 
The  Providence  Journal. 


SCR/BNER'S  'BOOKS  FOX  THE  YOUNG. 


tmA 


Little  People: 

And  Their  Homes  in  Meadows,  Woods  and  Waters. 


BY  STELLA  LOUISE  HOOK, 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  BT  DAN  BEARD  AND 
HARRY  BEARD. 


One  volume,  square  8vo, 


$1.50. 


HE  boy  or  girl  who  reads  this  book  will  be  astonished  at  the 
amount  of  curious  and  entertaining  information  which  it  con- 
tains about  little   insects,    some  of  whose  ways    are   familiar  to 
all.     The  author  is  an  ardent  lover  of   nature,  and  writes  with 
affectionate  fondness  and  with  a  charmingly  simple  and  winning 
style  of  these  tiny  denizens  of  the  field  and  water.     She  dwells, 
in  a  way  that  will  fascinate  every  young  reader,  on   the   manner  of 
development,  habits,  mode  of  life  and  appearance  of  animated  mites, 
describing,  in  words  that  any  child  can  understand,  the  wonderful  trans- 
formations through  which  many  of  them  pass  and  the  strange  and   busy 
lives  that  they  lead.     It  is  a  book  that  takes  the  young  reader  into  a 
veritable   fairy-land ;    and   the   author's   daintiness   of   touch 
enables  her  to  maintain  the  pleasing  illusion  and  to  hold  the 
unflagging  attention  of  her  young  readers. 


SUMMARY  OF  CONTENTS. 

The  Flower  Fairies  —  The  Musical  Elves — 
Little  People  in  Armor — The  Water  Sprites — 
The  Troublesome  Midgets — The  Wisest  of  the 
Little  People—  Fairies'  Pets  and  their  Relations 
— The  Brownies. 


SCRIBNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{   THE  YOUNG. 

"  Most  delightful.'' — New  York  Times. 


TWO  LITTLE  CONFEDERATES. 

BY    THOMAS    NELSON     PAGE. 
WITH   EIGHT  FULL-PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS    BY  E.  W.  KEMBLE  AND  A.  C.   REDWOOD. 

One  volume,  square  8vo,        ......      $1.50. 

The  two  heroes  of  Mr.  Page's  story  are  brave,  winning  little  fellows,  full  of  pluck  and 
courage,  yet  tender-hearted  withal  at  the  sight  of  the  suffering  they  cannot  relieve.  They  are 
Virginia  lads  who  have  been  left  at  home  with  their  mother  while  the  men  went  to  war.     But 


the  plantation  is  the  scene  of  raids  from  both  the  gray  and  blue-coated  cavalry,  who  engage  in 
some  hot  skirmishes,  and  who  supply  a  picturesque  background  for  the  adventures  of  the  lads. 
War  is  in  the  air  ;  and  the  boys  can  no  more  resist  going  gunning  for  deserters  in  the  swamp 
than  they  can  help  breathing.  The  trustful,  confiding  natures  of  the  gallant  youths  and  their 
zeal  to  aid  the  Confederates  lead  them  into  some  comical  escapades,  from  which  their  sturdy 
manliness  and  self-reliance  alone  extricate  them.  As  would  be  inferred  from  the  author's  "  In 
Ole  Virginia,"  the  note  of  deep  feeling  is  dominant  in  some  scenes.  Taken  altogether  the  story 
is  not  only  entertaining,  but  is  significant  in  its  graphic  picture  of  home  life  in  Virginia  during 
the  war. 


SCRIBNERS  BOOKS  FOR  THE  YOUNG. 


THE  B0VS 
LIBRARY  0F  LEGEND  &  CHIVALRY 

EDITED  BY  SIDNEY  LANIER, 
And  Richly  Illustrated  by  Fredericks,  Bensell,  and  Kappes. 


Four 
Sold 


volumes,  cloth,  uniform  binding,  price,  per  set, 
separately,  price,  per  volume, 


$7.00. 
$2.00. 


Mr  Lanier's  books,  in  which  he  presents  to  boy 
readers  the  old  English  classics  of  history  and 
legend  in  such  attractive  form,  are  now  issued 
in  four  uniform  volumes,  well  made  and  well 
illustrated  While  they  are  stories  of  action 
and  stirring  incident,  which  make  them  ex- 
tremely exciting,  they  teach  those  lessons  which 
manly,  honest  boys  ought  to  learn.  The  oath 
of  the  young  fourteenth  century  knight  made 
him  vow  to  speak  the  truth,  to  perform  a  prom- 
ise to  the  utmost,  to  reverence  all  women  to 
maintain  right  and  honesty,  to  help  the  weak, 
to  treat  high  and  low  with  courtesy,  to  be  fair 
to  a  bitter  foe,  and  to  pursue  simplicity,  modesty 
and  gentleness  of  heart  and  bearing  ;  and  the 
nineteenth  century  knight  is  he  who  takes  the 
same  oath  of  fidelity  to  truth,  honesty  and 
purity  of  heart.  The  illustrations  are  full  of 
fire  and  spirit,  and  add  very  much  to  one's  en- 
joyment of  the  book. 

THE  BOY'S  KING  ARTHUR. 

Being  Sir  Thomas  Mallory's  History  of  King  Arthur 
and  His  Knights  of  the  Round  Table. 


THE  BOY'S  FROISSART. 

Being  Sir  John  Froissart's  Chronicles  of  Adventure, 
Battle,  and  Custom  in  England,  France,  Spain,  Etc. 


THE  BOY'S  PERCY. 


THE 


KNIGHTLY  LEGENDS  OF  WALES; 
OR,  THE  BOY'S  MABINOGION. 


"  Amid  all  the  strange  and  fanciful  scenery  of  these  stories,  character  and  the  ideals  of  character  remain 
at  the  simplest  and  purest.  The  romantic  history  transpires  in  the  healthy  atmosphere  of  the  open  air  on  the 
green  earth  beneath  the  open  sky.  *  *  *  The  figures  of  Right,  Truth,  Justice,  Honor,  Purity,  Courage; 
Keverence  for  Law,  are  always  in  the  background  ;  and  the  grand  passion  inspired  by  the  book  is  for  strength 
to  do  well  and  nobly  in  the  world." — The  Independent. 

"  It  is  quite  the  beau  ideal  of  a  book  for  a  present  to  an  intelligent  boy  or  girl." — Baltimore  Gazette. 


SCRjBNER'S  BOOKS  FOTi  THE  YOUNG. 

Heroes  of  the  Olden  Time. 


By    JAMES    BALDWIN. 


Three  vols  ,  121110,  each  beautifully  illustrated,  Singly,  $1.50;  The  Set,  $4  00. 

In  these  three  volumes.  Mr.  Baldwin  presents  in  consecutive  narrative  forms  the 
Legends  relating  to  the  Trojan  War,  the  great  Siegfried  myth  of  Northern  Europe,  and 
the  mediaeval  romance  of  Roland  and  Charlemange  ;  bringing  before  the  reader,  with 
great  spirit,  with  scholarly  accuracy  and  with  unfailing  taste  these  heroic  figures  and 
the  times  in  which  their  adventures  are  supposed  to  have  occurred. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 

With  a  series  of  superb   Full-page   Illustrations  by 
Howard  Pyle. 

One  volume,  umo,         -  $1.30. 

"Mr.  Baldwin's  book  is  redolent  with  the  spirit  of  the^ 
Odyssey,  that  glorious  primitive  epic,  fresh  with  the  dew  of  the . 
morning  of  time.  It  is  an  unalloyed  pleasure  to  read  his  recital  i 
of  the  adventures  of  the  wily  Odysseus,  slightly  expurgated'' 
though  it  be,  and  adapted  for  the  intelligence  of  youthful  minds,  i-^f 
Howard  Pyle's  illustrations  render  the  spirit  of  the  Homeric !^"  - 
age  with  admirable  felicity." — Prof.  H.  H.  Boyese?i. 

"'  Mr.  Baldwin's  work  here  as  in  '  Siegfried  '  and  '  Roland '  is 
of  exceptional  merit,  and  is  to  be  classed  with  the  '  Tangle- 
wood  Tales '  of  Hawthorne  rather  than  with  the  average  story 
for  the  young.  Mr.  Pyle  has  furnished  the  volume  with  a 
dozen  drawings  of  great  artistic  excellence  and  of  genuinely 
illustrative  character." — The  Providence  Journal. 


THE  STORY  OF  SIEGFRIED. 

With  a  series  of  Full-page  Illustrations  by  HOWARD  Pyle. 

One  volume,  121110,  -  $1.50. 

1  It  is  told  with  spirit  and  is  beautifully  illustrated." — The 
New  York  Sun. 

" '  The  Story  of  Siegfried  '  is  charmingly  told.  The  author 
makes  up  the  story  from  the  various  myths  in  a  fascinating 
way  which  cannot  fail  to  interest  the  reader.  _  It  is  as  enji  y- 
able  as  any  fairy  tale.  The  writer's  style  is  simple  and  very 
attractive,  and  the  book  is  in  every  way  an  excellent  one  foi 
young  readers."—  The  Hartford  Courant. 


THE  STORY  OF  ROLAND. 

With  a  Series  of  Full-page  Illustrations  by  R.  B.  Birch. 
One  volume,  121110,  ...       $1,50. 

"  Finely  written,  beautifully  bound  and  excellently  illus 
trated,  it  is  a  charming  gift-book  for  either  a  boy  or  a  girl."— 
The  Critic. 

"  The  old  romance  is  thus  told  in  English  for  the  first  time' 
in  a  connected  form,  and  is  admirably  told  in  the  true  spirit  of 
chivalry." — The  Boston   Traveler. 

"  Mr.  Baldwin  has  culled  from  a  wide  range  of  epics,  French,  Italian  and  German,  and  has  once  more  proved 
his  aptitude  as  a  story  teller  for  the  young,  while  conveying  information  for  which  many  of  their  elders  will  be 
thankful." — The  Nation. 


SCR/BNER'S  "BOOKS  FO"R_  THE  YOUNG. 


THE    BLACK    ARROW. 

c/7  Tale  of  the  Two  looses. 

BY    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON. 
WITH    12     FULL-PAGE    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    WILL    H.    LOW    AND    ALFRED    BRENNAN. 

One  volume,   i2mo,   paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

Rep  ete  with  bri-k  dialogue  and   enlivening  incident,  and   told  in  the 

nervous,    picturesque   style   peculiar    to   the    author   of    "Kidnapped"    and 

'Treasure  Island  "  this  lale  of  adventure  will  share  the  popularity  of  the  best 

of  Mr.  Stevenson's  romances.     It  is  a  story  of  thrilling 

interest  from  first  to  last. 

"An  absorbing  book." — The  New  York  Journal  ef  Commerce. 
'"The  story  is  full  of  the  atmosphere  of  adventure,  and  is  one  of  the  strongest  pieces 
of  romantic  writing  ever  done  Ly  Mr.  Stevenson."  —  The  Boston  Times. 
"  It  has  all  the  good  qualities  of  his  ether  stories — their  invention,  their  spirit  and  their 
charming  English.     The   hand   that  wrote  'Treasure  Island 'and  '  Kidnapped    is  visible  in 
its  stirring  pages." — The  New  I  ork  Mail  and  Express. 

"We  have  devoured  the  book  at  a  sitting;  and  were  ihe  question  to  arise  which  of  the 
■»*'S_--     ■  /      /    \±     \       author's  two  books,  'Treasure  Island  '  or  'The  Black  Arrow  '  should  be  preserved,  if  only 
one  of  them  could  escape  destruction,  we  should  hesitate  not  a  moment  to  cry  out  for  '  The 
Black  Arrow.'     It  has  all  the  charm  of  the  other  book  and  something  more.    The  island  is 
become  a  forest,  with  casths  and  abbeys  and  caverns  in  its  depths  ;  and  the  treasure  a  lovely 
maiden." — The  Critic. 
*         "The  Black  Arrows  are  a  kind  of  Robin  Hoods,  who  foregather  iD  the  greenwood, 
kill  the  King's  venison,  waylay  the  King's  subjects,  and  exercise  a  simple  and  primi- 
tive injustice  by  killing  everybody  in  any  way  connected  with  the  objects  of  their 
special  animosity.     Mr.  Stevenson  has  made  a  striking  series  of  dramatic  pictures. 
The  action  is  vigorous  and  incessant.    The  lawless  condition  of  the  time  is  kept  in  evidence.     Everybody  is  fighting 
or  flying,  plotting  or  baffling  plots,  doing  or  hindering  overt  wrong.     The  tale  sweeps  on  to  its  close  with  plenty 
of  elan."— The  New  York  Tribune. 


KIDNAPPED. 

Being  Memoirs  of  the  Adventures  of  David  Balfour  in  the  Year  1751. 

BY    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON 

One  volume,  i2mo,      .      .     paper,  50c;  cloth,  $1.00 

With  16  fu'1-page  illustrations,  $1.25. 

"  Mr.  Stevenson  has  never  appeared  to  greater  advantage  than  in  '  Kid 
napp.  d.'  "—The  Nation. 

"  He  brings  back  old  chivalries  and  piracies,  and  talks  to  the  boyhood  of 
to-day  of  shipwrecks  and  highwaymen,  as  if  these  venerable  objects  of  worship 
had  not  been  superseded  Lng  ago  by  mercantile  heroes  and  dollar-coining 
newsboys." — The  Atlantic  Monthly. 

"  It  is  written  wi.h  a  beautiful  carnestnej  s  and  verity  that  convince  the  reader, 
with  every  sentence,  he  is  reading  a  true  history,  while  the  author's  wonderful 
power  of  description,  his  cunning  discrimination  of  character  and  his  charming 
English  combine  to  make  the  story  irresistible." — The  Rostnn  Courier. 


A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES. 

BY    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON. 


One  volume,  121110,  gilt  top, 

"These  verses  are  simply  exquisite.  They  are  the 
chdd's  thought  in  the  child's  language,  and  yet  altogether 
poetical.  We  do  not  know  anything  in  the  whole  range 
of  English  literature  to  equal  them  in  their  own  peculiar 
Charm.  There  is  a  subtle  beauty  \-\  them  which  is 
indescribable  an  1  unequalled. —  The  Churchmnn. 


fl.OO. 

"A  more  exquisite  and  dainty  art  than  Mr.  Steven- 
son's has  not  come  to  the  service  of  children  and  their 
interpretation." — The  Springfield  Republican. 

"  To  our  thinking,  Mr.  Stevenson  has  made  a  book 
which  will  become  a  classic  in  the  not  over-crowded 
field  of  children's  poetry." — The  Brooklyn  Union. 


SCRIBNER'S  BOOKS  FOX  THE  YOUNG. 


CHILDREN'S  STORIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

TALIESIN  TO  SHAKESPEARE. 

BY     HENRIETTA    CHRISTIAN     WRIGHT. 

One  Volume,  12mo,  .......  #7.25 

Miss  Wright's  aim   in  this  new  volume   has  been  to 

bring  to  the  attention  of  young  readers  a  summary,  set 

forth  in  simple,  attractive  language,   of   the   lives   and 

works  of  the  great  men  of  English  Literature.     Especial 

stress  is  laid  upon  popular  literature,  the  old  British  and 

Saxon   Songs,  the  romantic  episodes  of  King  Arthur's 

reign  in  its  relation  to  learning,  Robin  Hood,  etc.     The 

book  is  written  in   a  charmingly  winning  style,  and  is 

both  entertaining  and  valuable  as  a  first  book  of  English 

literature. 

CONTENTS. — Old  British  Songs  ;  Old  Saxon  Songs  ;  Cedmon  ;  The  Venerable  Bede  ; 
King  Alfred;  The  Romance  ok  King  Arthur;  Robin  Hood:  the  Hero  of  the 
People  ;  Langlande  and  Gower  ;  Sir  John  Mandeville  ;  Geoffrey  Chaucer  ; 
Wickliffe  ;  Caxton  ;  The  Faery  Queen;  Sir  Philip  Sidney  ;  The  Rise  of  the 
Drama. 

'BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

CHILDREN'S    STORIES 


With  numerous  Portraits. 


OF    THE    GREAT   SCIENTISTS. 


72/770,  #7.25 


"  The  author  has  succeeded  in  making  her  pen  pictures  of  the  great  scientists  as 
graphic  as  the  excellent  portraits  that  illustrate  the  work.  Around  each  name  she  has 
picturesquely  grouped  the  essential  features  of 
scientific  achievement." — Brooklyn  Times. 


OF    AMERICAN    PROGRESS. 

illustrated.  .  -  72/770,  $7.25 

"  Miss  Wright  is  favorably  known  by  her  vol- 
ume of  well-told  'Stories  in  American  History,' 
and  her  '  Stories  of  American  Progress  '  is  equally 
worthy  of  commendation.  Taken  together  they 
present  a  series  of  pictures  of  great  graphic  in- 
terest. The  illustrations  are  excellent." — The 
Nati 07i. 

IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY. 

Illustrated.  .....  72/770,  $1.25 

"  A  most  delightful  and  instructive  collection 
of  historical  events,  told  in  a  simple  and  pleasant 
manner.  Almost  every  occurrence  in  the  gradual 
development  of  our  country  is  woven  into  an  at- 
tractive story  for  young  people." — San  Francisco 
Evening  Post. 


SCRIBNBR'S  BOOKS  FOX  THE  YOUNG. 


PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED. 

BY    FRANK  R.  STOCKTON, 

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One  volume,  square  8vo,  -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        ^2.00 

O  FASCINATING  volume  of  travel  by  the  famous  story- 
J  *  teller,  whose  route  is  outlined  with  characteristic 
quaintness  in  the  table  of  contents  given  below.  The 
chapters  are  a  series  of  pleasant,  informal  talks  with  an  im- 
aginary party  of  young  people  to  whom  the  author  is  show- 
ing the  curious  and  interesting  sights  of  the  old  world  ; — 
a  fancy  that  Mr.  Stockton  works  out  with  his  customary  in- 
genuity and  cleverness. 

-The  two-score  and  more  of  illustrations  by  Joseph  Pen- 
nell, Alfred  Parsons,  and  others,  enriching  the  pages  with 
many  beautiful  old-world  views,  give  the  book  a  high 
artistic  quality  and  make  it  a  volume  admirably  suited  for 
a  holiday  gift. 

CONTENTS. — The  Romans,  but  not  Rome  ;  The  City  of  the  Bended 
Knee;  Little  Pisa  and  Great  Rome;  Great  Rome  Again; 
Around  the  Bay  of  Naples  ;  In  Florence  and  Venice  ;  A 
Mountain  Top,  and  How  we  Get  There;  Queen  Paris; 
King  London  ;  Jn  English  Country  ;  The  Low  Countries 
and  the  Rhine  :    The  People  We  Meet.  ^£? 


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THE   STORY    OK    VITEAU. 

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"  It  is  as  romantic  and  absorbing  as  any  boy  could  wish  for,  full  of  adventure  and  daring,  and  yet  told  in 
excellent  spirit  and  with  a  true  literary  instinct." — Christian  Union. 

A    JOLLY    FELLOWSHIP. 

With  Twenty  Illustrations.  ...  .  .  l2mo.  $1.50 

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The   Floating   Prince   and   Other   Fairy   Tales. 

With  Illustrations.  ...  ...  Square  8uo,  $1.50 

"  These  tales  are  full  of  the  quaintest  conceits  and  the  oddest  fancies,  and  the  strange  adventures  in  which 
'he  different  characters  engage  are  just  the  kind  to  excite  the  intense  interest  of  children." — Phila.  Bulletin. 


THE   TING'A-LING   TALES. 

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"  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  anything  more  dainty,  fanciful  and  humorous  than  these  tales  of  magic, 
fa:ries,  dwarfs  and  Giants.    There  is  a  vein  of  satire  in  them  too  which  adult  readers  will  enjoy." — N.  Y.  Heraid. 

Roundabout  Rambles  in  L,ands  of  Fact  and  Fiction. 

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T4I.ES  out  of  school,. 

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SCR/BNER'S  BOOKS  FO%   THE  YOUNG. 


HANS   BRINKER; 

OR,  THE   SILVER  SKATES. 

A  Story  of  Life  in  Holland. 


One   volume, 
trations, 


By  MARY  MAPES  DODGE. 
I  -'mo,    with    sixty    beautiful    illus- 


$1.50. 


"  For  children,  what  could  be  better  as  a  gift  than  a  copy  of  Mrs.  Dodge's 
'  Hans  Brinker  ;  or,  the  Silver  Skates  '  ?  This  is  one  of  the  most  charming  of  juven- 
ile stories,  dealing  with  fresh  scenes  and  a  strange  life,  and  told  with  sweet  sim- 
plicity and  great  beauty." — The  Congregationalist. 


RHYMES  AND  JINGLES. 

By  Mrs.  MARY  MAPES   DODGE. 

Editor  of  "  St.  Nicholas." 
Profusely  illustrated. 

One  vol.,  12mo.    >»ew  edition,  $1.50 

Mrs.  Dodge's  "  Rhymes  and  Jingles  "  is  a  collection 
of  her  child's  poems— a  department  of  literature  in 
which  she  has  no  equal.  Some  of  these  poems  have 
been  pronounced  "  without  rivals  in  our  language." 


PRINCE  PEERLESS. 

A  Fairy    Folk   Story   Book. 

By    MARGARET    COLLIER. 

(Madame  Gelletti  Di  Cadilhac). 

ILLUSTRATED      BY      JOHN      COLLIER. 


One  volume,  12iuo, 


$1.2,' 


"  More  admirable  and  fascinating  a  fairy  story  book 
we  have  not  lately  set  eyes  upon.  The  stories  are 
most  airily  conceived  and  most  gracefully  executed." 
—  The  Hartford  Post. 


PHAETON  ROGERS. 

A    NOVEL    OF    BOY    LIFE. 

By  ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 

Illustrated. 

One  volume,  U'mo,    -  $1.50 

"  One  of  the  funniest,  liveliest  juvenile  stories  of  the 
year  is  '  Phaeton  Rogers,'  by  Rossiter  Johnson.  The 
writer  shows  as  much  ingenuity  in  inventing  comical 
adventures  and  situations  as  Phaeton  does  with  his 
kite-teams,  fire  ladders,  and  comets." — The  Holyoke 
Transcript. 


THE  BOY  EMIGRANTS. 

By  NOAH  BROOKS. 

Illustrated. 


One  volume,  12mo,    - 


$1.50 


"  It  is  one  of  the  best  boy's  stories  we  have  ever 
read.  There  is  nothing  morbid  or  unhealthy  about  it. 
His  heroes  are  thorough  boys,  with  all  the  faults  of 
their  age." — The  Christian  at  Work. 


THE  FAIRPORT  NINE. 


By  NOAH  BROOKS. 
One  volume,  12  mo,    - 


a. 25 


"  As  a  thoroughly  wholesome  and  delightful  book 
for  boys, '  The  Fairport  Nine  '  is  not  likely  to  have  its- 
superior  this  season." —  The  N.  Y.  Evening  Mail. 


ABOUT  OLD 

STORY  TELLERS. 

OF    HOW   AND    WHEN    THEY    LIVED,   AND   WHAT 
STORIES  THEY   TOLD. 

By  DONALD  G.  MITCHELL. 


With  numerous  illustrations. 


One  volume,  12mo, 


$1.25- 


"  '  About  Old  Story  Tellers '  is  made  up  of  the  best 
of  the  old  stories,  gathered  from  all  sources,  re-told  in 
Mr.  Mitchell's  inimitable  manner,  and  interwoven  with 
lively  sketches  of  the  original  writers  and  the  times  in 
which  they  flourished."—  The  New  Haven  fournaF 
and  Courier. 


SCRIBNERS  BOOKS  FOR  THE  YOUNG. 


Marvels  of  Animal  Life  Series. 


By    CHARLES    F.     HOLDER. 


Three  vols.,  8vo,  each  profusely  illustrated,  Singly,  $1.75;  The  Set,  $5.00. 


[1IBNE 


The  marvellously  strange  forms  of  animal  life  that  exist 
or  have  existed  in  the  earth,  air  or  sea,  supply  Mr. 
Holder  with  a  theme  of  entrancing  interest  for  every  boy. 
The  style  is  popular;  there  is  a  mass  of  accurate  informa- 
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tion of  the  author  and  the  illustrations  are  numerous 
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LIVING  LIGHTS. 


A  POPULAR  ACCOUNT  OF  PHOSPHORESCENT 

ANIMALS  AND  VEGETABLES. 

With  27  Full-page  Illustrations,  $1.75. 

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— R.  H.  Stoddard. 

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vealed a  world  of  new  wonders  to  those  who  are  inquisitive  about  certain  mysteries  of  great  interest,  concern- 
ing which  no  other  naturalist  has  written." — The  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 


MARYELS  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE. 


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"  Mr.  Holder  combines  his  descriptions  of  these  odd  crea- 
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in  many  parts  of  the  world.  These  are  told  with  much 
spirit  and  humor,  and  add  greatly  to  the  fascination  of  the 
book." — The  Worcester  Spy. 


THE  IVORY  KING, 

A  POPULAE   HISTORY   OF   THE    ELEPHANT    AND 
ITS  ALLIES. 


With  24  Full-page  Illustrations, 


51.75. 


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white  elephants,  rogue  elephants,  baby  elephants,  trick 
elephants,  of  the  elephant  in  war,  pageantry,  sports  and 
games.  A  charming  accession  to  books  for  young  people." 
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SCRIBNER'S  BOOKS  FO%  THE  YOUNG. 


A  NEW  AND  CHEAPER  EDITION  IN   THRbE  PARTS. 

JULES     VERNE'S     GREATEST    WORK. 

"  THE  EXPLORATION  OF  THE  WORLD." 

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acquaintance  with  the  world  in  which  he  lives,  to  combine  into  a  sing> 
work  in  three  volumes  the  wonderful  stories  of  all  the  great  explorers 
navigators,  and  travellers,  who  have  sought  out,  one  after  another,  ths 
once  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth." — The  New  York  Evening-  Post. 


The  three  vols,  in  a  set,-.  $7.50;    singly,  $2.50. 


FAMOUS  TRAVELS  AND  TRAVELLERS. 

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THE  GREAT  NAVIGATORS  OF  THE  XVIIITH  CENTURY. 

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THE  GREAT  EXPLORERS  OF  THE  IIXTH  CENTURY. 

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"  The  Prince  of  Story  Tellers.'''' — The  London  Times. 

JULES     VERNE'S     STORIES. 

UNIFORM  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION. 

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Price,  per  set,  in  a  box,       .........      $17.5®- 

Sold  also  in  separate  volumes. 


"Michael  Strogoff ;  or,  The  Courier  of 

the  Czar  $2.00 

A  Floating  City  and  the  Blockade 

Runners 2.00 

Hector  Servadac 2.00 

Dick  Sands. ... 2  00 

-A  Journey  to  the  Centre  of  the  Earth    2.00 


From  the  Earth  to  the  Moon  Direct 
in  Ninety-seven  Hours,  Twenty 
Minutes;    and  a  Journey  Around 

it  $2  00 

The  Steam  House 2  00 

The  Giant  Raft 2  00 

The  Mysterious  Island 2  50 


SCRIBNER'S  BOOKS  FOT{  THb  YOUNG. 


THE  BOY'S  LIBRARY  OF  PLUCK  AND  ACTION. 


Four  volumes,  initio,  in  a  box,  illustrated, 
Sold  separately,  price  per  volume,  - 

A    JOLLY    FELLOWSHIP. 

BY  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


*5.oo 
1.50 


HANS    BRINKER; 

OR,   THE    SILVER    SKATES. 

A  Story  of  Life  in  Holland. 
BY  MRS.  MARY  MAPES  DODGE. 


The  Boy  emigrants, 


BY  NOAH  BROOKS. 


Phaeton  Rogers. 

BY  ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 

In  the  " Boy's  Library of Pluck  and  Action"  the  design  was  to  bring  together  the  repre- 
sentative and  most  popular  books  of  four  of  the  best  known  writers  for  young  people. 
The  volumes  are  beautifully  illustrated  and  uniformly  bound  in  a  most  attractive  form. 


ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  OF  TRAVEL. 


BY  BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


Per  sei,   six  volumes,  i2mo,  $6.00.  Each  with  many  illustrations.. 

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JAPAN  IN  OUR  DAY. 

TRAVELS  IN  ARABIA. 

TRAVELS  IN  SOUTH  AFRICA. 

CENTRAL  ASIA. 

THE  LAKE  REGION  OF   CENTRAL 

AFRICA. 
SLAW,  THE   LAND  OF  THE  WHITE 

ELEPHANT. 

Each  volume  is  complete  in  itself,  and 
contains,  first,  a  brief  preliminary  sketch 
of  the  country  to  which  it  is  devoted;  next, 
such  an  outline  of  previous  exploration?  as- 
may  be  necessary  to  explain  what  has. 
been  achieved  by  later  ones  ;  and  finally, 
a  condensati  on  of  one  or  more  of  the  most 
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at  once  secures  the  high  character  of  the  '  Library '  in  every  particular." — The  Sunday  School  Times. 


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ST0DDARB'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 


DAB    KINZER.     A  Story  of  a  Growing  Boy.  SALTILLO     BOYS. 

THE  QUARTET,    a  scqud to » Dab Kin^.-      AMONG  THE  LAKES. 

WINTER  FUN. 

BY  WILLIAM  O.  STODDARD. 


Five  volumes,  i2nto,  in  a  box,  ...  -  $5.00. 

Sold  separately,  price  per  volume,    -  1.00. 


"  William  O.  Stoddard  has  written  capital  books  for  boys.  His  'Dab  Kinzer,'  and  'The  Quartet,'  are  among 
the  best  specimens  of  'Juveniles'  produced  anywhere.  In  his  latest  volume,  'Winter  Fun,'  Mr.  Stoddard  gives 
free  rein  to  his  remarkable  gift  of  story  telling  for  boys.  It  is  a  connected  tale  of  winter  life  in  the  country,  in 
which  a  party  of  bright  lads  extract  their  fun  from  hunting  rabbits,  trapping  bears,  snow-balling,coasting,  skating, 
making  maple  sugar,  and  leading  a  semi-wild  life  in  the  woods  and  fields  part  of  the  time.  They  are  good  boys 
too,  and  neglect  none  of  their  home  duties  while  furnishing  the  materials  for  this  entertaining  book.  Healthful 
works  of  this  kind  cannot  be  too  freely  distributed  among  the  iittle  men  of  America  as  a  counterpoise  to  the 
pernicious  literature  too  often  provided  for  them."— Journal  of  Commerce. 


A    NEW   AND    REVISED    EDITION    OF 
THE    ILLUSTRATED 

LIBRARY    0F    WONBERS. 


THE   WONDERS    OF    MAN    AND   NATURE. 

Intelligence  of  Animals. — Mountain  Adventures — Bodily  Strength  and  Skill — Wonderful  Escapes 
— Thunder  and  Lightning — Adventures  on  the  Great  Hunting  Grounds — Wonders  of  the  Human 
Body — The  Sublime  in  Nature. 

THE   WONDERS    OF    SCIENCE. 

Wonders  of  Heat — Wonders  of  the  Heavens — Wonders  of  Optics — The  Sun— Wonders  of 
Acoustics — Wonders  of  Water — Wonders  of  The  Moon — Meteors,  Aerolites,  Storms  and  Atmos- 
pheric Phenomena. 


THE  WONDERS  OF  ART  AND  ARCHAEOLOGY. 

E^ypt  3,300  Years  Ago — Wonders  of  Sculpture — Wonders  of  Glass  Making — 'Wonders  of  European 
Art— Won  ters  of  Pompeii— Wonders  of  Architecture — The  Wonders  of  Italian  Art— The  Wonders 
of  Engraving. 

Twenty-four  volumes,  containing  over  a  Thousand  Valuable  Illustrations. 

Each  Set,  8  volumes,  in  a  Box,  -  $8.00. 

Each  /olume,  i2mo,  complete  in  itself.  Sold  separately  at  $1.00  per  volume. 


SCR/BNER'S  HOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


A     NEW     EDITION    AT    REDUCED     PRICE. 


THE 


American  Boy's  Hanby  Book 


OR,  WHAT  TO    DO   AND    HOW   TO    DO    IT. 

BY  DANIEL  C.  BEARD. 


'\he  volume,  octavo,  fully  Illustrated  by  the  Author, 


$2.00. 


Mr.  Beard's  book  is  the  first  to  tell  the  active,  inventive  and  practical  American  boy  the  things 
he  really  wants  to  know;  the  thousand  things  he  wants  to  do,  and  the  ten  thousand  ways  in 
which  he  can  do  them,  with  the  helps  and  ingenious  contrivances  which  every  boy  can  tither 
procure  or  ?nake.  The  author  divides  the  book  among  the  sports  of  the  four  seasons  ;  and  he 
has  made  an  almost  exhaustive  collection  of  the  cleverest  modern  devices,  besides  himself 
inventing  an  immense  number  of  capital  and  practical  idea-. 


SUMMARY  OF  CONTENTS. 

Kite  Time — War  Kites — Novel  Modes  of 
Fishing — Home-made  Fishing  Tackle — How 
to  Stock,  Make  and  Keep  a  Fresh-Water 
Aquarium — How  to  Stock  and  Keep  a  Ma- 
rine Aquarium — Knots,  Bends  and  Hitches — 
Dredge,  Tangle  and  Trawl  Fishing — Home- 
made Boats — How  to  Rig  and  Sail  Small 
Boats— How  to  Camp  Out  Without  a  Tent 

—  How  to  Rear  Wild  Birds  —  Home-made 
Hunting  Apparatus — Traps  and  Trapping — 
Dogs  —  Practical  Taxidermy  for  Boys  — 
Snow  Houses  and  Statuary — Winged  Skaters 

—  Winter  Fishing  — Indoor  Amusements  — 
How  to  Make  a  Magic  Lantern — Puppet 
Shows — Home-made  Masquerade  and  The- 
atrical Costumes — With  many  other  subjects 
of  a  kindred  nature. 


at  to  d 
and 
ow  to. 
,da.it£ 

TheiAmeriganSots 
*Handy:Book 

BY 

LCBearA 


"It  is  the  memory  of  the  longing  that  used  to  possess  myself  and  my  boy  friends  of  a  few  years  ago  for  a  real 
practical  American  boy's  book  that  has  induced  me  to  offer  this  volume.  Of  course  such  a  book  cannot,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  be  exhaustive,  nor  is  it,  indeed,  desirable  that  it  should  be.  Its  use  and  principal  purpose  are  to  stimulate 
the  inventive  faculties  in  boys,  to  bring  them  face  to  face  with  practical  emergencies  when  no  book  can  supply  the 
place  of  their  own  common  sense  and  the  exercise  of  personal  intelligence  and  ingenuity." — From  the  Author'* 
Preface. 

"  Each  particular  department  is  minutely  illustrated,  and  the  whole  is  a  complete  treasury,  invaluable  not  only 
to  the  boys  themselves,  but  to  parents  and  guardians  who  have  at  heart  their  happiness  and  healthful  development 
of  mind  and  muscle." — Pittsburgh  Telegraph. 

"The  boy  who  has  learned  to  play  all  the  games  and  make  all  the  toys  of  which  it  teaches,  has  uncon-ciously 
exercised  the  inventive  faculty  that  is  in  him,  has  acquired  skill  with  his  hands,  and  has  become  a  good  mechanic 
and  an  embryo  inventor  without  knowing  it." — Milwaukee  Evening  Wisconsin. 


SCR/BNER'S  BOOKS  FOR  THE  YOUNG. 


The  American  Girl's  Handy  Book 

HOW  TO  AMUSE  YOURSELF  AND  OTHERS. 

BY  LINA  AND  ADELIA  B.  BEARD. 
With  nearly  500  Illustrations  by  the  Authors. 


One  volume,  square  8vo, 


$JOft 


Full  of  information  upon  the  thousand  and  one  things  that  interest  every  girl,  this  volume 
forms  a  notable  companion  to  the  book  for  boys  by  Daniel  C.  Beard,  brother  of  the  present 
authors,  published  last  year.  Everything  that  girls  want  to  know  about  their  sports,  games,  and 
winter  afternoon  and  evening  work,  is  told  clearly  and  simply  in  this  helpful  and  entertaining 
volume.  Beginning  with  April  Fool's  Day,  the  authors  take  their  readers  through  the  circuit  of 
the  year,  dwelling  upon  the  sports,  games,  etc.,  appropriate  to  each  season  and  to  all  the  holidays, 
and  furnishing  welcome  instruction  regarding  the  many  little  accomplishments  that  girls  like  to 

become  proficient  in.  The  volume  is  fully  and 
handsomely  illustrated  from  drawings  by  the 
authors,  whose  designs  are  in  the  best  sense  illus- 

lr  How  to  ^  trative  of  the  text- 


Amuse 

Yourself 

and 
Others 


The:AmERI6AN:CjIRLS 
•HANDY:B00Kr 


LinaBeard 
and 
Adelia  RBear* 


NewYork 
Charles 
ScribnefS^ 
■s  Sons 


SUMMARY  OF  CONTENTS. 

First  of  April — Wild  Flowers  and  Their 
Preservation — The  Walking  Club  —  Easter- 
Egg  Games — How  to  Make  a  Lawn -Tennis 
Net  —  May-  Day  Sports  —  Midsummer- Eve 
Games  and  Sports — Sea-side  Cottage  Deco- 
ration— A  Girl's  Fourth  of  July — An  Impres- 
sion Album — Picnics,  Burgoos,  and  Corn- 
Roasts — Botany  as  applied  to  Art — Quiet 
Games  for  Hot  Weather — How  to  Make  a 
Hammock — Corn-Husk  and  Flower  Dolls- 
How  to  Make  Fans — All  Hallow  Eve — Na- 
ture's Fall  Decorations  and  how  to  Use  Them 
— Nutting  Parties — How  to  Draw,  Paint  in 
Oil-colors,  and  Model  in  Clay  and  Wax — China 
Painting— Christmas  Festivities,  and  Home 
made  Christmas  Gifts — Amusements  and 
Games  for  the  Holidays. 


FROM  THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

One  of  our  objects  is  to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  the  girls  the  fact  that  they  all  possess  talent  and  ability  to 
achieve  more  than  they  suppose  possible,  and  we  would  encourage  a  belief  in  the  remark  made  by  a  famous  French- 
man :  "  When  you  Americans  unuertake  anything  you  never  stop  to  ascertain  if  it  be  possible,  you  simply  do  it.y' 

We  desire  also  to  help  awaken  the  inventive  faculty,  usually  uncultivated  in  girls,  and,  by  giving  detailed  methods 
of  new  work  and  amusement,  to  put  them  on  the  road  which  they  can  travel  and  explore  alone. 

We  know  well  the  feeling  of  hopelessness  wh'ch  accompanies  vague  directions,  and,  to  make  our  explanations 
plain  and  lucid,  we  have  ourselves,  with  very  few  exceptions,  made  all  of  the  articles,  played  the  games,  and  solved 
the  problems  described. 

The  materials  employed  in  the  construction  of  the  various  articles  are  within  easy  reach  of  all,  and  the  outlay,  i* 
most  cases,  little  or  nothing. 


SCRIBNER'S  "BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


OTTO  OF  THE  SILVER  HAND. 

WRITTEN  AND  ILLUSTRATED  BY   HOWARD  PYLE. 
WITH    TWENTY-FIVE    FULL-PAGE    AND    MANY    OTHER    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


One  volume,  royal  8vo,  half  leather, 


$2.00 


THREAD  of  romantic  and  touching  interest  runs  through  this  tale  by  the 
author  of  the  ever-popular  "  Merry  Adventures  of  Robin  Hood."  The 
young  hero  is  the  motherless  son  of  a  valiant  robber  baron  of  the  old 
days  of  mediaeval  Germany,  when  these  lawless  chiefs,  with  bands  of 
fierce  and  desperate  retainers  at  their  backs,  were  constantly  fighting 
with  each  other  or  despoiling  the  caravans  of  the  merchant  burghers. 
The  motive  of  the  story  springs  from  the  feud  between  Otto's  father,  the 
Lord  of  Drachenhausen,  and  the  rival  house  of  Trutz-Drachen.  Mr. 
Pyle  tells  with  great  spirit  the  narrative  of  Low  the  little  fellow  was  kid- 
napp  d  by  Baron  Henry  of  Trutz-Drachen,  and  of  One-eyed  Hans's  thrilling  adventures  when 
he  attempted  the  boy's  rescue.  Otto  is  a  lad  of  sweet  and  lovable  character  ;  and  his  trustful 
tenderness  of  heart  is  brought  into  striking  prominence  by  contrast  with  savage  roughness  of 
most  of  those  around  him.  The  illustrations  are  in  Mr.  Pyle's  best  vein,  graceful,  spirited 
and  vigorous. 


The  MERRY  ADVENTURES  of  ROBIN  HOOD 


Of  Great  Renown  in  Nottinghamshire. 

WRITTEN  AND  ELABORATELY   ILLUSTRATED   BY   HOWARD  PYLE. 


One  volume,  royal  8vo,  full  embossed  leather,  $4.50;   cloth, 


$3.00. 


"  A  superb  book." — The  Chicago  Inter-Ocean.  \  "  A  very  original  work." —  The  Boston  Post. 

"  An  excellent  piece  of  literary,  artistic  and  mechani-        :  "A    cap.ivating     book." —  The     London     Daily 

<calwork." — The  Louisville  Cominercial.  I        News. 

"  This  superb  book  is  unquestionably  the  most  original  and  elaborate  ever  produced  by  any  American 
artist.  Mr.  Pyle  has  told,  "with  pencil  an  I  pen.  the  complete  and  consecutive  story  0/  Robin  Hood  and  hit 
merry  men  in  their  haunts  in  Sherwood  Forest,  gathered  front  the  old  ballads  and  legends.  Mr.  Pyle '  s  ad- 
mirable illustrations  are  strewn  profusely  through  th*  book." — The  Boston  Transcript. 


Li  ttle  •  John-  knoweth-not- which-  Road*  to-  take  :■  •€> 


